


With Two Hands

by whatsup_buttercup



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Alternate Universe - Vorkosigan Saga Fusion, Diplomacy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Politics, Scenting, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsup_buttercup/pseuds/whatsup_buttercup
Summary: “Do you think he’ll let you get a picture with him?” Phichit’s voice comes through distorted by the long chain of communications systems and the great distance between them.“I imagine some official photos might be taken,” Yuuri offers.“You should try to work ‘I became a translator because of you!’ into conversation. You know, casually.”Yuuri takes a large sip from his mug of tea, refusing to be baited. “We’ll see.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very very much to Athra & James for the quick beta <3

“Do you think he’ll let you get a picture with him?” Phichit’s voice comes through distorted by the long chain of communications systems and the great distance between them.

“I imagine some official photos might be taken,” Yuuri offers.

“You should try to work ‘I became a translator because of you!’ into conversation. You know, casually.”

Yuuri takes a large sip from his mug of tea, refusing to be baited. “We’ll see.”

Phichit’s tone softens. “I really am happy for you.”

Yuuri should be used to this. After all, he’s been away from his own family for years and years. There’s still a sharp pain, though, when it settles in that Phichit is going to be, from now on, in that distant category as well. The diplomatic assignment he’s departing for will last three years minimum. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too,” Phitchit agrees. “But hey, who knows, maybe I’ll graduate early, take a trip to Rothys, and meet up with you and your celebrity crush.”

“Phichit!” These communication lines are monitored.

Phichit laughs. “It’ll be fine. You’ll be so busy at your dream job that you’ll barely have time to think about little old me, your poor cadet friend on Earth…”

Yuuri tries for a smile.

“I’ve got to head to class soon,” Phichit says. “Make sure to update me when you can! It wouldn’t kill you to post a selfie or two.”

Yuuri hums, committing to nothing. “All right, take care.”

The call ends and the screen goes dark, glass reflecting only the dim shape of Yuuri himself: pale, plain, nervous, and furiously excited.

* * *

“So what made you choose Rothys of all places?” Jacob Andelman, the brand new envoy that Yuuri will be accompanying and assisting, adjusts the strange high collar of his Rothys-style suit as he looks Yuuri up and down. “It’s not the most popular spot in the universe.”

Indeed it is not. At the edge of known space, Rothys isn’t of particular strategic or cultural importance to the galaxy at large. Its archaic ways and confusing politics don’t win many admirers, and their foggy, icy climate doesn’t win many tourists.

“It was recommended to me as a place of need,” Yuuri smoothly lies.

Jacob laughs. “Ain’t that the truth. If there’s a place that needs a cultural translator, Rothys is it. A nest of snakes with an obsession over ancient history.”

Yuuri blinks, temporarily blindsided by the honest speech. In the world of diplomacy, that’s rare.

“Don’t worry, we’re not there yet.” Jacob pats Yuuri on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way, laugh lines visible at the corner of his eyes. He’s more than triple Yuuri’s age (and possibly weight), with a full head of gleaming white hair. “I’m just enjoying my time to speak candidly with you. Lord knows we won’t get much of that once we reach orbit.”

A slight incline of his head is all Yuuri allows in response to that.

Yuuri wordlessly hands him a pair of gloves, then puts on his own. Their arrival outfits are quite formal by galactic standards, with high collars and long, cuffed sleeves. However, their outfits don’t hold a candle to true Rothys formal style, with its ornate and meaning-filled decoration and jewelry. Their diplomatic gear is merely respectable and bland, carefully calibrated to signal their outsider status and not infringe on the many, varied family-specific designs and colors of the Great Houses themselves.

After landing permission is granted and descent is in progress, Yuuri goes over the critical checklist again.

“Please remember not to touch anyone, or even brush against them. Avoid eye contact unless you’re absolutely sure who you’re talking to, and you have permission to interact with them. Our introduction will probably be very brief with the royal family, keep your tone and voice neutral but not weak. Speak clearly, introductions only, and then respectfully back away. We will most likely be dining at our embassy tonight.”

Jacob nods along, already fairly knowledgeable in the basics of Rothys culture. Yuuri isn’t a language translator, with translation technology being what it is (although he is fluent in Rothyonian in his own right), he’s a cultural translator and advisor. Jacob’s primary focus is strengthening ties with the planet and convincing the royal family that mining the resources on their lifeless and mineral-rich moons would be advantageous for both of them. Yuuri’s job is to make sure Jacob is informed enough to not insult someone critical in a way that might result in death as punishment, which is an unfortunate but very real possibility.

As far as first assignments go, the stakes are very high. However,Yuuri didn’t claw his way to the top of his graduating class for nothing.

Rothys is a place where very few outsiders ever go, and he’s excited to be one of them.

* * *

Their introductions are, as predicted, extremely brief. Yuuri takes to his role as a silent shadow alongside his envoy, and bows at the correct angle at the correct time, eyes trained on the (admittedly very nice) rich wooden flooring. It’s probably real wood, from a real tree, and the sheer scale of the barbarity/expense of that he reflects upon with each footfall across its polished surface.

And if he very carefully steals the barest glance at the crown prince, Viktor Nikiforov, no one is thankfully the wiser. Rothys doesn’t do vanity body mods, so that beautiful silver hair is 100% natural. Jacob will be negotiating with one of the council members, so this will likely be their only interaction with the royal family, and he can’t allow himself to miss a peek at the man who’s inspired him since childhood.

Yuuri stores the sight somewhere deep in his heart, a precious thing to treasure; a childhood dream not realized but acknowledged.

* * *

Rothys is as advertised: cold, foggy, and closed to outsiders. Yuuri has spent the last 6 months largely secluded in their embassy. Representatives visit them to talk, not the other way around.

The initial stages of the trade negotiations have gone much better than expected. Rothys in general doesn’t like outsiders, but they _do_ very much enjoy fuel for their fleet and the latest medtech from the center of the galaxy, both of which require galactic currency. A hard bargain has been tentatively reached, one that is equally unpalatable to both parties and thus ultimately very fair is settled upon, ahead of schedule by months. Jacob will take it back to his stakeholders for final considerations.

Yuuri keeps Jacob from making any serious social faux pas for the duration, which he counts as a win as well.

The final agreement must be signed _in person_ by the royal family themselves, to Yuuri’s great surprise. All his research had indicated they didn’t waste their breath on outsiders in person, except in the very traditional rules of hospitality that mandated hosts (in this case, the hosts of the planet, the Nikiforovs) acknowledge visitors at the palace. He’d expected they’d need to approve it, but assumed they’d merely sign the paperwork.

That’s how Yuuri finds himself once again in the royal receiving room, wearing his same stiff black outfit and trying not to destroy all their hard work in its final stage.

“A large crowd today,” Jacob says, tone carefully neutral.

The room is bustling indeed. “It’s an honor to be granted a royal audience,” Yuuri agrees, equally mild. Much of his diplomatic training covered how to make bland and inoffensive small talk.

Official business like this is scheduled into long blocks, once a month. They’ll have to wait their turn.

“I see King Leroy is here again.” Jacob tilts his chin towards the unusually loud gaggle of people near the refreshment table. Their behavior isn’t as modulated and polite as the rest of the crowd. Then again, it doesn’t have to be—as one of Rothys’s few and traditional allies from this area, they are treated with more tolerance.

“I see he brought his Queen as well,” Yuuri says. She looks happy, standing next to her husband–almost scandalously close (but still not touching).

As it is impolite to turn down refreshments here, Yuuri sips at the glass of crisp sparkling wine a demure attendant passed him earlier. He’s careful to keep it mostly full, so he doesn’t get a refill that could impair his judgement, even though he’d dearly like to down a couple more glasses and an additional bottle. Six months on Rothys have made Yuuri tense.

An ancient mechanical clock, inset in real wood, shows a time well-past when the meeting was set to begin. Yuuri decides to risk a quick visit to the restroom.

It’s on his way out that he makes his first major mistake. His mind elsewhere, Yuuri collides with someone a little shorter in his haste to get back, stumbling and nearly smacking them against the wall.

A shorter, white-blond person, wearing white and silver with a very particular, intricate design.

A royal. Yuri Plietsky.

Yuuri drops into a horrified, submissive bow, baring his neck and biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. _Stupid. So stupid. Right at the end, too!_

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The duke’s voice is low and angry.

Yuuri is forced to respond to the direct question. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace.”

Yuuri is extremely grateful there doesn’t seem to be an audience in this narrow hallway to see his transgression. At least, as far as he can judge, with his eyes trained firmly on the floor.

“Know your place, _beta,_” he spits out.

Yuuri bows deeper.

Fate must be merciful for his stupidity today, because there is nothing further than that. The duke walks away, leaving Yuuri to quietly get himself back under control in the hallway.

When he slips back into the main room, the royal family is already in attendance and dealing with their first petitioner. Trying to be as invisible as possible, Yuuri retreats to his envoy’s side. Jacob shoots him a concerned look.

Their treaty is signed without pomp and circumstance when it’s their turn. They present their physical paperwork on top of a polished wood table, set on top of a plush carpeted dias. No words are exchanged; the digital copy has been reviewed in advance, signing on real paper and ink is a mere formality.

Mindful of his earlier mistake, Yuuri does not dare try to sneak another glance at the crown prince, though he really, really wants to. He contents himself with the view of the prince’s elegant hands and the deft way he signs his name.

In deference to the ranking between them, Jacob leaves first and Yuuri makes to leave the platform a carefully-measured step behind.

It’s this gap of space that saves his life.

A sudden flash of light blasts across the room, and in barely a second Jacob is crumpling on the floor. Yuuri takes in with horror the gaping hole in his envoy’s chest, not understanding.

An attack? An assassin? Who would target Jacob in this way? Yuuri scans the horrified crowd, mind screaming static and all effort at polite eye contact forgotten.

There’s a glint of bright silver, pointed at the Rothys royal family. A disruptor. People are screaming, scrambling for cover. Without conscious thought, Yuuri steps in front of it, hand extended to knock the weapon out of the assailant’s hand–

A flash, followed quickly by sharp, burning pain on his upper arm. Then a portion of the roof collapses, blanketing the crowd in dust and rubble. More screaming rings out.

Dazed, Yuuri tries to orient himself in the chaos. He still has both arms, one of them hurts excruciatingly much, but he doesn’t have a hole in his chest like— like Jacob—

Someone strong pulls him up and along, and he struggles to keep up as the static rings higher and higher in his mind. _This is the first time someone has touched me in_ _six months_, Yuuri thinks, almost completely detached as he stumbles along one long hallway and then another, with a small and frantic group of white-clad people.

They end up in what looks like an underground suite of rooms, behind a series of doors that they secure after themselves with very serious looking locks.

What’s he going to tell his supervisor? Jacob has a wife, a daughter—

“Why did you bring _that_ with you!?” A somehow familiar voice demands.

A fact that had been nagging at the edge of Yuuri’s mind jumps quickly into focus.

This group he’s with—they’re all wearing white.

Not just any white. Royal white, with silver accents. Everyone except Yuuri is clad in it. The group around him must be royal attendants, bodyguards… with shock he realizes that, no, this group is the royals themselves.

Yuuri fixes his eyes firmly on the floor.

The grip on his good arm tightens as he tries to pull away into an apologetic bow. If he can convince them not to kill him for this offense, it’ll be a miracle.

The person holding his arm does not let go.

“_This_ man just saved my life by jumping directly in front of disruptor fire,” Viktor Nikiforov says, voice like ice.

It’s about at this point that Yuuri short-circuits and passes out.

* * *

It’s something Viktor has been prepared for his entire life, or so he thought.

Assassination is a risk for any royal, and particularly so for the Nikiforovs. If you want to overthrow the ruling party, killing the person in charge usually results in an affiliated person from the same group taking their place: a king dies, his sibling or child ascends to the throne, stasis is restored.

The Nikiforovs are a limited resource. His father refused to accept another mate after the Queen died in childbirth, going against centuries of tradition. As an only child, the closest party to replace him would be a royal cousin, of which there are many, each with their own potentially-civil-war-causing agendas.

Viktor has practiced security drills since he was old enough to walk. Each hidden safe room and the routes to get there have been etched into his memory; each eventuality discussed. Their family purposefully doesn’t expose themselves to the public often, but they pride themselves on being prepared for anything.

Except he wasn’t.

The bright flash of the disruptor beam that nearly hit him is still burned into his retinas, visible whenever he blinks. If not for the Sernian envoy getting in the way, it could have easily been Viktor with a hole in his chest, Viktor with burns on his arm.

Yuri, for all his bluster, has already pulled out the heavy-duty medkit to assist their foreign savior. The man seemed a rather unremarkable black-haired, dark-eyed beta. That is, until Viktor had seen the light in his brown eyes as he stood down a disruptor rifle and saved his royal life.

“What’s the medscan say?” Viktor's knees hurt from where he’s awkwardly hunched on the floor. When the man had crumpled, Viktor had thankfully been able to break his fall.

Yuri’s brow furrows as he reads the device in his hand. “Take his jacket off, it’s ruined anyways. Then we can clean it and apply the steriband. It’s listing out all the care steps, and it looks like all items in our kit. He’s not critical for now.”

Considering the weapon, the fact that he still has an arm is impressive. The blast only grazed him, leaving a nasty red burn that will absolutely scar, even with the finest care. That weapon is notorious for being difficult to heal from.

Viktor leaves Yuri to it, shifting gears to his cousin Mila. She’s sitting at the com panel, furiously typing.

“What’s the news?”

“Nothing,” Mila says with a frown. “Full silence from all the networks, even the public ones.”

Viktor’s hearts sinks. “This isn’t an isolated incident, then.”

“Afraid not.”

What they need is information, and they’re unfortunately not in a place to get it. Relying on his father and the people outside is the only current option.

“Viktor, help me with this,” Yuri demands. He’s gotten their saviour’s shirt mostly off, but he’s struggling with his weight and trying to avoid the deep red burn on his arm.

It’s an absurd thing to notice, in the midst of everything, but the man has very, very nice skin. Viktor tries to think back to the last time he touched anyone.

Yuri has his scent under tight control, but stress is leaking out regardless: sharp and bitter.

“I’ve never seen you move so fast on a security drill before.”

“That’s because it wasn’t a _drill_,” Yuri huffs.

Together, it isn’t difficult to get the man out of his shirt and begin following the medkit’s carefully spelled out instructions. He barely makes a sound, despite how they inevitably jostle him around, just small, pained gasps.

“Message,” Mila says, sharp, only now looking up from the screen where she’s been tracking the infosphere. “From your father.”

He’s alive if he’s sending messages. Something inside his heart relaxes just a tiny bit.

“And?”

Mila makes direct eye contact. “Stay put.”

“_And?_”

“That’s all it says.”

Typical.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Athra and James for beta-ing, and to Erik for answering questions like "does this made-up word sound Russian-ish?" without context.

Yuuri wakes and is briefly concerned that he’s drowning. He shifts against the heavy fabric weighing him down and in the process jostles his injured arm; that wakes him up further. It hurts quite a bit.

With eyes now open, Yuuri can see the thick white blankets that are holding him in place. Their detailed embroidery sparkles with silver and gems, even in the dim lighting. The sides of the traditional Roytsian nest bed slope upward on all sides, so it’s like he’s wrapped in a basket or a bowl, warm and insulated.

Nothing makes sense.

He can hear voices, muffled by distance.

“We don’t have time for your games, Viktor.”

“What kind of pressing matters do you have to attend to? Waiting here and scowling?”

“Unlike you, I’m concerned with figuring out what’s going on!”

“How noble. And what’s your plan for doing that?”

There’s a muted crashing sound. Yuuri considers staying put, ensconced in this nest bed, but the image of Jacob on the ground wells up in his mind and forces him to fight his way out of the soft cocoon.

Pausing at the door to the nestroom, Yuuri considers his outfit: shirtless, barefoot, bandaged. It’s beyond the height of rudeness for this culture, to be so disheveled, _especially_ anywhere near the royal family.

A cursory examination of the cabinets nearby reveal additional blankets and sheets. A closet yields full outfits hung stiffly on hangers; they too are white and ornate, not appropriate for an outsider to wear. He weighs the pros and cons, then settles on a well-made white undershirt, the plainest item available. It’s a bit of a trick to get it on and over the burn on his upper arm, but he manages. He also borrows a pair of luxuriously soft socks and the plainest gloves available.

The door opens while he still only has one sock on. He blinks up at the figure silhouetted in the doorway, then obediently snaps his head down into a bow.

“You’re awake,” Viktor says. Unlike Yuuri, his outfit is still immaculate and white. “Perfect.”

“I am, Your Royal Highness,” Yuuri says, hesitantly. He looks up through his eyelashes. Unsure what to do with his remaining sock, he awkwardly bunches it in his fist.

“I’ll need you to tell me what you saw today, in as much detail as possible.” Viktor’s voice is crisp. “When you’re dressed, please come out and share your testimony.”

Yuuri ducks into another bow of acknowledgment in pure reflex.

“Excellent.” The door falls shut behind him with a thunk.

It’s not smart to keep royalty waiting. Yuuri hurries to tidy himself up, patting his hair down in the nearby mirror, and walks out into the main room with deep dread. No amount of tidying will make him presentable for this.

* * *

“I didn’t see anything until the ceiling was already caving in,” Yuri says. His shoulders are hunched in tight, even as he attempts a lazy sprawl on the couch, giving away his stress.

“They got through our security screen with a disruptor, which shouldn’t be possible,” Mila says. Her eyes are fixed on the newscreens again. “Points to an inside job.”

The sideroom door opens and out walks their guest in a mismatched outfit. Viktor carefully gathers up all the details he knows about him: involved in a recently-signed mining treaty, an off-word diplomatic assistant for Serna who doesn’t hesitate to jump towards a disruptor. The name escapes him.

The beta’s manners are perfect for court, almost making up for his peculiar outfit as he bows to each of them. “Your Royal Highness, Your Grace, Your Grace.”

“You can speak freely,” Viktor says, eager to disperse the pageantry.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” The beta assumes a more confident pose, spine straightening. “As requested, here are the events as I recall them. As we left the dias, I saw my envoy fall suddenly to the ground. It became obvious quickly that he had received a direct disruptor hit to the chest. I saw a glint of silver in the crowd, assumed it to be a weapon, and attempted to block it from harming anyone else.The blast hit the ceiling instead.”

_Hitting you along the way, after killing a friend. _The topic is difficult, but Viktor doesn’t have time for mercy.

“Do you recall anything about the person carrying the weapon?” He presses.

“They were wearing black, like most people attending the audience.” The undercurrent of his accent blurs his consonants in a pleasant way.

“Anything else?”

The beta looks genuinely disappointed. “Nothing else. My sincerest apologies.”

No new information at all. Still, Viktor nods in thanks.

“You’re the one I bumped into in the hallway,” Yuri says, all of a sudden. He gets up from the couch, finger pointed in accusation.

Another sweeping bow. “Ah, yes. I’m very sorry about that, Your Grace.”

“People aren’t usually so absent minded around us. You know we could have had you killed for that, I’m sure. How do we know you weren’t with the shooter?” Yuri asks. In times like this it’s easy to see that he’s newly-presented, the way he bristles like a cat at the slightest provocation.

“I don’t think stopping the assassination attempt fits with that theory, Yura.” Viktor puts a finger to his lips, deep in thought. “Your envoy, did he have any enemies you know of? Lovers? Did you see him speaking with anyone not directly involved in your mining endeavor?”

“He never left the embassy without me, and we rarely left.” He can see the man visibly swallow. “No enemies that I know of. We’ve only been working together for half a year, this is my first assignment out of school. He has– had a wife and daughter on his home planet.”

The beta’s brown eyes look a little misty, and Viktor feels oddly chastised. The person who he worked with most closely was just murdered in a horrible way, it’s no wonder he’s having a hard time speaking.

Belatedly, Viktor asks, “What’s your name?”

On Rothys, you can tell just about everything you need to know about a person by their dress. This offworlder’s mismatched clothing tells him nothing at all, and he’s scentless. Viktor only has his visual presence to go on.

“Katsuki Yuuri.” Another bow, perfectly precise and very unusual for an outsider to pull off. There’s a grace to it.

“Yuuri,” Viktor tries. “Thank you.”

“I strive to ever be of assistance,” Yuuri says.

Having received his testimony, Viktor’s standard procedure would be to dismiss him back to his room, on the pretense that he should rest more. It’s the most sensible option. Instead, Viktor invites him to sit down with them in the main area. Mila shoots him a look.

* * *

Being on lockdown is spectacularly boring. They fill the silence with half-hearted bickering, as is royal family custom.

“Just because there’s a media blackout doesn’t mean _we_ should be left in the dark,” Yuri says. He’s right.

Part of the trouble with a safe room is that it’s, well, isolated. Cut off. No compads to read from or play games with. No dramas to watch, or music to listen to. Now that the initial fear has subsided somewhat, there isn’t much else.

“We should make sure to stock the room in advance of next time we’re in mortal peril,” Viktor says. From his seat in a plush chair, he’s been playing an old, familiar game: holding himself as still as possible, breathing controlled and slow. His younger self had invented it after one too many official functions where his only task was to sit still and look important.

“We really should,” Mila agrees. She isn’t even scanning the news anymore, moving instead to her old habit of picking at her nails.

Yuri has his feet up on a priceless, hand-carved wooden table, the rest of him sprawled across an entire loveseat. The air stinks of stressed alpha and dust.

“Don’t worry, Yura, I’m sure your cat is perfectly fine.” Viktor says. “She’s probably sleeping in the linen closet.”

His young cousin nods tensely. “Of course she is. I’m not worried.”

Their little beta, Yuuri, has taken up an unobtrusive seat in the corner of the room and attempted to fade into the background.

This calls for a change of pace. He’d spotted something interesting, idly scanning the room. Viktor gets up and plucks a rectangular box off one of the shelves, triumphant. “I thought I one of these was in here.”

“Cards? What are you, ninety-three?”

It’s an old pack of Praxa, chipped and dusty — left here by a long-ago royal, by the looks of it. Viktor runs his fingers over the embossed edges.

Mila’s eyes are bright. “Good find.”

Viktor pulls the low table to the center of the room, cheerily disrupting Yuri’s footrest. Mila helps, shifting furniture so there’s enough room for them all to crowd around.

“I’d rather nap,” Yuri insists.

“It does require quite a lot of thinking; maybe you’d better take a rest. Yuuri, how about you? Fancy a game?”

It would be the height of rudeness to refuse. “If it pleases you, I’d be honored to play.”

“It would please me very much,” Viktor says.

Yuri scowls but joins in, easy as ever to taunt into playing.

The rules are complicated and involve a lot of math, bluffing, and knowledge of point-winning combinations. However, it’s traditional, and Rothys loves tradition above all. As such, the game itself is integral to noble life and politics, as the preferred social game of the upper class. Skill in it is a prerequisite for royalty, and he, Yuri, and Mila have been playing since a time when the long, narrow cards barely fit in their hands.

“Have you played this before, Yuuri?” Mila asks.

“Yes, Your Grace, though certainly not very well,” Yuuri says. Viktor raises his eyebrows.

“Whatever possessed you to learn? I was under the impression that it was only played here.” Viktor deals out little piles of cards deftly.

“Since I was sent to work here, I thought it would be prudent to learn.” Is it a trick of the light, or does Yuuri have a light blush across his cheeks? How interesting.

It turns out, Yuuri is no slouch when it comes to Praxa. A few hands in and his younger cousin is scowling openly.

Viktor lays out his hand with a smile, smoothly winning the round. Yuuri had given him a fight.

The game requires immense concentration. It’s a point of pride for many nobles to hold complex conversations while playing, to judge the players’ mental nimbleness. There’s no need for that here, and they play four full rounds in near-silence.

Yuuri places a card onto the table just as the medpad lights up and chimes, cheery in the stuffy room. He visibly startles.

“How’s your arm?” Viktor asks. “Does it hurt?”

“Ah, it’s fine, thank you.”

“That’s the hypo alarm,” Viktor says. He rises to go administer it; hey, it’s something to do, and a novel activity at that. Before he can truly get up, Yuuri reaches for the pad himself, silencing its alarm and pulling out the attached hypo to dose himself.

Viktor transitions smoothly into a stretch, pushing both arms above his head. Mila’s expression says he wasn’t as slick as he hoped to be.

“I almost won that time,” Yuri says. “One more round!”

* * *

Dinner is ration bars. When it comes to it, breakfast, lunch, and every meal under lockdown will be ration bars. Truly a bleak future.

Before Viktor can reach for another, a chime sounds from the doorpad in the wall. Mila rushes over to check it before anyone else can get up.

“It’s from the king,” she says. Viktor sits up straighter. “Situation is under control, he says.”

Tension uncoils.

“Finally.” Viktor gets up and stretches his legs, already picturing the long shower and bath he’ll have when he returns to his room. The en-suite in the saferoom is woefully small.

“They’ll be opening the door shortly,” Mila continues. “For Yuri and I.”

“Excuse me?” Viktor asks.

“You stay put, Viktor, sorry.” Mila looks like she pities him a little, which she should.

“What about him?” Viktor asks, gesturing to Yuuri.

“He stays put, too,” Mila says.

Viktor reads the message for himself, of course, leaning over Mila’s shoulder. No explanations are given, but then, they don’t have to be, not with who they’re coming from.

The door unlocks in steps, made as it is with sequential locks. Once the process is complete there’s a distinct change in air pressure as it opens, granting blessed fresh air. Some of what Viktor recognizes as his father’s most trusted guards lead Mila and Yuri away, and very respectfully ask Viktor to stay where he is. It’s nice of them to pretend he has a choice in the matter.

Before they go, they do drop off a few covered trays of hot food and three crates of supplies: they won’t be forced to rough it quite as much. Mila waves with one hand as they exit.

Yuuri quickly begins setting the table with practiced hands. Viktor raises his eyebrows. “Is meal service something they teach you in diplomacy school?”

“Ah,” Yuuri nervously twirls a spoon in his hand, “No, Your Highness. My family runs a resort business, so I have some experience.”

Yuuri’s innocence is iron-clad in the eyes of his father and their security, or Yuuri wouldn’t be allowed to remain here with the heir to the throne. Viktor’s guess is that Yuuri is suspected of the attempted assassination by the greater public opinion, and they’re using that in an attempt to flush out the real culprit. Layers and layers.

It’s setting up to be an odd dinner party. Viktor takes off his gloves and sets them neatly to the side, and Yuuri does the same. Breaking bread is an activity done with family; it’s his first dinner party with a lone galactic, that’s for certain. As such, Viktor wants to find out as much as he can about him.

“A resort! What kind?” Viktor’s never been to one, but he’s read about them.

“A hot springs resort, Your Highness,” Yuuri says. “Geothermal springs for bathing and relaxation.”

“There’s no need for the titles, Yuuri. Just ‘Viktor’ is fine. No one’s here to overhear,” Viktor insists, a request he can’t recall ever making before.

“My apologies, Your– ah, Viktor.” Yuuri seems to have a near-permanent blush; it’s rather charming.

“What made you decide not to continue in their footsteps?” Viktor is certainly familiar with the fact that galactics aren’t anywhere near as rigid in maintaining traditional family businesses, instead focusing on their children’s interests and aptitudes. A revolutionary thought on Rothys.

“My older sister has it handled just fine,” Yuuri says.

“Are you bonded?” Viktor asks, just to see if he can get a longer answer out of him.

“No! No, I’m not partnered,” Yuuri looks studiously down at his food, eating a bite of rich dark bread.

Not one to be deterred, Viktor asks, “Are you promised to someone? You’re certainly old enough, and I hear that’s something the wider galaxy still does, albeit a little less formally than here.”

Yuuri swallows. “No. I’m, ah, very devoted to my work.”

Viktor takes pity and steers the conversation somewhere else. This Yuuri is refreshing and quick-witted; Viktor enjoys talking with him quite a bit. It’s enough of a consolation for being trapped here.

* * *

“Yuuri, did you know I’ve been injured at an official event?”

The newsbrief is quite short. Their press representatives must have their reasons; they always measure their words and revelations grain by grain.

Yuuri opens his mouth in a surprised ‘o’, then smoothes his expression back to blandness when he sees the newscreen. “I’m so sorry to hear that. How did it happen?”

He’s gotten much more expressive in the week or so they’ve been cooped up together, to Viktor’s delight. He sits down next to Yuuri on the couch.

“It doesn’t say! It does, however, note that I’m expected to make a quick and full recovery.”

“Great news, then,” Yuuri says.

“Quite.” Hopefully this news signals that their captivity is almost at an end. Viktor is a progressive on a planet of staunch traditionalists; there are many who would seek to have someone else on the throne.

“What’s the first thing you’ll do when we’re out of here?” Viktor is planning to spoil his dog even more rotten than usual, and then hunt down the responsible parties.

“I imagine I’ll visit Serna,” Yuuri says, “and pay my respects to Jacob’s family.”

Viktor should have predicted that. Viktor steers the conversation away from that as smoothly as he can. “I will make sure your passage is covered. Would you return home after that, then?”

A long pause. “Probably not. I’ll be sent on my next assignment, hopefully, if they’ll still have me.”

“Not here, then.” Yuuri will return back to the bright, wide world from which he came. “That’s too bad.”

Later that evening, Viktor is interrupted mid-shuffle of the stack of Praxa cards to an alert.

“What is it?” Yuuri comes up behind him, peering at the screen.

“It says to be presentable in one hour, because we’ll be released soon and be giving an official statement.” Viktor runs his fingers through his hair. An hour is not enough time for a full shower and formal clothes; then again, the story is that he’s been injured. He can work with this.

Yuuri has taken to wearing a black sleeveless undershirt without covering, on Viktor’s insistence, to avoid putting pressure on his wounded arm. When the doors open, the greater rules of society will be back in effect, and that level of exposed skin would be extremely scandalous. Yuuri retreats to put on an appropriate level of layers.

“Let me know if you need help!” Viktor says, to the closed door. There’s no answer, Yuuri’s extreme formality having faded between them days ago.

Their bubble of peace collapsed the moment the alert came in. Viktor puts on his most official outfit, delivered with the rest of the supplies, and does what he can to clean up, rereading the prepared statement he’s meant to deliver. His thoughts turn to the endless chain of duty before him; the weight of it settling like heavy snow.

Yuuri comes out only moments before the door is set to open, buttoned up in full diplomatic gear. The fabric is snug around his wounded arm; he’d stubbornly done it all himself.

“Ready?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri nods. His shoulders are held in a different way, high and tight and distant.

The receiving room has been fixed impeccably, ceiling expertly patched. Viktor ascends to the same dias all this began from, gesturing Yuuri to follow. Yuuri settles a polite distance from his side, with him but not intruding.

The crowd of press is smaller; familiar faces, all from Rothys, no doubt impeccably screened. They eye their visibly unharmed prince and the outsider at his shoulder with some manner of confusion. The familiar electronic hum of broadcast drones hover peacefully in midair, capturing the scene.

“His Royal Highness, Viktor Nikiforov.”

Everyone in attendance bows. Viktor can feel Yuuri doing the same from over his shoulder. The heads of a few of their closest-allied houses are in attendance, as well as the largest news organization.

“Good evening,” Viktor begins, smiling a practiced, winning smile. “As you can see, my health is just fine.”

He waits for the polite laughter to subside, then regurgitates the security-approved statement smoothly. Most public speeches he’s been allowed to give have been prepared by someone else, triple-checked and approved by his father. As he’s grown older, he’s been begrudgingly allowed to go off-script a bit and add his own flair. “Now that the incident has been resolved to our family’s satisfaction, I’m here to answer any questions you may have.”

Most are simple to answer and allow him to reiterate important points. No, he wasn’t seriously hurt. No, the envoys from Serna aren’t under suspicion. In fact, the man to his left, Yuuri Katsuki, bravely stepped in the way to protect him, getting injured in the process.

Viktor’s determined to get that part clear, even though it was conspicuously absent from the script. When he glances to Yuuri, he’s stiff as a statue at his side.

An attendant takes the stage after only twenty minutes.

Back in the corridor, Mila slides up behind Viktor and pats him on the back. “Did you have fun on your little break?”

“Very much so.” Mila’s hair is done up more intricately that normal, with small pinned-up braids edged in dainty crystalline flowers.

“I for one am very glad you’re back. They’ve been having me entertain the Leroys, and I can only watch holos of their king’s musical performances for so long before I absolutely lose it. It’s your turn.”

There go Viktor’s hopes that he’d be able to avoid the rest of their state visit. “But my dear Mila, you’re so much more practiced than me.”

“He got a tattoo of his own name on his back. He tried to show me.”

Viktor laughs.

“Hello, Yuuri.” Mila says, peering over Viktor’s shoulder.

Yuuri bows. “It’s lovely to see you again, Your Grace.”

The formality is back up, full-swing. Duty beckons, and this might be the last time he and Yuuri are together like this.

“I’ll take your place on appreciating King Leroy’s musical talents after I escort Yuuri to Dr. Golubev,” Viktor promises.

“I’m counting on it,” Mila says. The rare evening sunlight gleams through the crystals in her hair as she retreats, casting rainbows on the walls.

“Your Highness, there’s no need for you to go through the trouble–“

_Vikor_, he wants to correct, but he can’t. “I insist.”

What he _should_ do is drop Yuuri off and quickly meet with his father; it’s not wise to keep a king waiting, even when you’re his son. In fact, it would be most prudent to have an attendant escort him, say goodbye right here, _focus_.

Yuuri follows him down the hallway, a few steps behind, until their destination. Dr. Golubev has been watching over their family since before Viktor was born; a heavyset alpha man with a brisk manner. His room is impeccably neat.

Dr. Golubev doesn’t looks surprised to see them. “I’ll take care of this, Your Highness.”

Yuuri sits down on the sterile exam table and obediently takes off his gloves, then begins unbuttoning the high neck of his jacket. A few strands of black hair curl forward over his forehead, no longer held back by their hasty styling.

“Thank you,” Viktor says, turning to Yuuri. “And thank you again, Katsuki Yuuri. Your swift actions saved my life. If your travels ever take you bath to Rothys, I would very much like to see you again.”

Viktor holds out his gloved hand, and Yuuri tentatively puts his own bare one into it. It’s highly improper, but the doctor isn’t likely to tell. He leans forward and brushes his lips a breath above Yuuri’s knuckles.

Pauses.

Viktor keeps his voice very quiet and expression very casual. “Yuuri, I don’t remember you ever mentioning that you’re an omega?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: Do you just slap bandages on a burn?
> 
> A: These are highly advanced Space Bandages don’t worry about it. Yes. You just slap it on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to James and Athra for the beta <3 CHAMPIONS.

Viktor Nikiforov is holding his bare hand. One day, in a few years, when he’s hanging out with Phichit and inevitably gets drunk, he’s going to excitedly gush about this exact moment. And Phichit will never ever let him live it down.

Viktor leans in and almost brushes his lips against Yuuri’s knuckles. He’s so busy trying to process the feeling that the next sentence takes far too long to register.

“Yuuri, I don’t remember you ever mentioning that you’re an omega?”

“Yes?” He blurts. “I mean. I didn’t mention it?”

Viktor has very long, silver eyelashes, which are accentuated when he blinks. He’s still holding Yuuri’s hand.

“Besides, it should hardly matter,” Yuuri says. He’s had an implant that suppressed the majority of his secondary gender since before he presented, just like the rest of the civilized galaxy. Rothys is odd in that way, since most people don’t want to spend their time with heats, ruts, and scenting, at least not without tight control over those needs.

“Should hardly matter,” Viktor echoes. “Right.”

How can Viktor even tell? Did he look up Yuuri’s official profile? It’d have to be his real one, not the one submitted to Rothys, where suppressed people count as betas.

The situation snaps into place. Yuuri’s implant is in his _arm_. Which was hit by a _disruptor. _

“Fuck!” Yuuri says. He rips his hands away from Viktor’s, then slaps his hands over his mouth, mortified. Yuuri _rarely_ swears, especially not in front of royalty.

The doctor is remarkably calm. He taps Yuuri’s shoulder, above the burn. “An implant was here?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He bows deeply, “Sorry! I’m so sorry.”

He can’t tell what Viktor’s feeling; he’s too scared to look at his face.

“It’s no trouble, Yuuri,” Viktor says. His voice is very tight and strange. “I’ll leave you to Dr. Golubev.”

* * *

Doctor Golubev doesn’t have any direct experience with implants or their withdrawals, but he does pull up some information on the galactic network and transfer some notes to Yuuri’s personal account. He recommends Yuuri get another installed immediately upon his return, to prevent any “unwanted side effects.”

If it becomes known that Yuuri spent nearly a week alone with the crown prince, the scandal itself could certainly be enough to push Viktor’s entire family from power. As a beta, it meant nothing; as an omega, the effects would be disastrous.

He needs to get off this planet and stay far, far away from it. Forever. Scholarly specialization be damned.

Despite his desire to get on the nearest transport to _anywhere else in the galaxy_, a guard very politely but firmly shows him to a guest room in the palace itself. The door to the room isn’t locked, but when he’d taken a moment to peek out, two guards stationed outside had politely asked if there was anything he needed.

Which means Yuuri won’t be leaving just yet.

He does feel a bit stupid for not noticing his implant is gone. Headaches, body aches, being quickly overwhelmed with the scent of their simple dinners: all unusual things that happened during his time with Viktor. Yuuri had merely attributed them to stress.

With the desire to get at least one part of his life in order, Yuuri takes time to bathe in the attached bathroom, fastidiously cleaning himself of his own scent. At least, he hopes so. Now that he’s aware, he can see the slightly swollen scent glands in the skin of his wrists and feel them in his neck, raised and a little sore. Scrubbing them only increases the irritation.

Yuuri studies the newsfeeds on the room’s tablet for a few hours, catching up on local and galactic updates. The tablet is, predictably, read-only; he isn’t able to uncover much at all, or reach out to anyone he knows. The guards knock politely and deliver an elaborate hot meal on a richly carved tray some time later, and to Yuuri’s regret, he stress-eats the entire meal far too quickly, even though it tastes like the contents were approximately 50% butter.

While he’s flopped on the bed digesting his mistakes, the tablet chirps with the distinct ring of an incoming call. Yuuri sits up and nervously adjusts his hair before responding.

“Yuuri!” Viktor practically sparkles when he smiles. Off-screen, Yuuri’s hand clenches.

“It’s nice to see you again, Your Highness.”

“Lovely to see you as well,” Viktor says, then coughs, unusually uncomfortable.

Yuuri waits politely. When nothing else seems forthcoming, he prompts gently, “Has my transit off-world been arranged?”

“About that. There’s going to be a ceremony tomorrow, in thanks for your heroism. You earned it, of course.”

Yuuri blinks, trying to recall anything like that in Rothys’s history before. Svetlana Adropova, who had stamped out an attempted coup nearly a century ago, comes to mind, and Michail Turgenev, a physician who had saved the life of one of the queens after three separate and very complicated births. Yuuri has accomplished nothing so dramatic.

“Your Highness, surely I’m not worthy of–“

“Nonsense, Yuuri, it’s decided.”

Viktor’s word is law. Yuuri clenches his jaw. “As you wish.”

“I very much wish.” Viktor smiles.

* * *

Attendants appear bright and early – two omega men, from their outfits. Yuuri can’t yet tell dynamics by scent, having never needed to do it before, but he does get the impression of something sweet and floral, which might just be their perfume.

They gently but firmly dress him in layers and layers of white, politely dodging his questions about _why_ they’re dressing him in the royal colors_._ Everything from his undergarments to his finely embroidered jacket is soft and heavy. Even the edging around the ankles of his trousers glimmer with both silver thread and actual crystals, matching his undershirt, jacket, and traditional omegan headpiece.

“His Highness has approved this?” Yuuri asks, gesturing to the elaborate confection atop his head. As with everything on Rothys, it denotes rank and family affiliation, and the signals Yuuri is reading don’t match up with anything he knows to be true.

“Yes, Mister Katsuki,” they assure him.

Yuuri is more stressed by their knowing smiles than anything.

There’s pearl netting at the front, dangling over his bangs, as well as a few of the crystal flowers he saw Mila wearing the other day, all standing out starkly against the jet black of his hair.

Whatever Viktor thinks he’s doing, Yuuri’s annoyed. Doesn’t he know that Yuuri, with his training, would instantly recognize what this outfit means? Maybe he doesn’t think much of his knowledge after all.

The attendants go so far as to give him a full manicure, much more skillfully than Yuuko’s triplets had once done. He doesn’t have any more input now than he did with four year-olds, and his short nails are covered in white with silver edging with practiced ease.

Irritation bubbles under the surface, but Yuuri doesn’t take it out on the attendants who are only doing their jobs.

He doesn’t see a mirror throughout the process or on the way to the ceremony itself, but he doubts he would have recognized himself if he had. The venue is the same vast room Yuuri where this all began, what feels like a lifetime ago. It’s absolutely a calculated choice. _In thanks for your heroism_, Viktor had said.

It isn’t until he sees Viktor, and his _father_, and the array of other noble families and press in attendance, that anxiety begins to win out over annoyance. Yuuri holds himself stiffly and breathes in measured breaths as he approaches the dias. The room is silent, all eyes on him.

He curtsies, the traditional omega way, knowing his private secondary gender is now planetary knowledge. His outfit says it all, and whatever Viktor is planning, this must be part of it.

“You may rise.” The King’s voice isn’t like Viktor’s; the same deep base is layered with a glacier’s worth of ice. Yuuri snaps up in immediate response.

“Katsuki Yuuri. Through your actions, you have saved the life of my son, though you owe no loyalty to me or my people.”

Is he expected to say something? His eyes remain trained on the polished floor.

“Your bravery will not go unrewarded. You may approach.”

Yuuri’s steps sound much too loud. How can a room with so many people be so silent?

Viktor, dressed in his full royal ensemble, holds out something that glimmers. In Yuuri’s study of Rothys, he’s read of this type of royal gift and has an idea of what should be done. Would it have killed Viktor to let him know in advance?

Viktor’s wearing gloves, and Yuuri’s wearing enough layers that he _shouldn’t_ feel anything, and yet. Viktor deftly clasps the sparkling necklace around Yuuri’s neck and he shivers. He gestures for Yuuri to face the gathered audience, which he does with static ringing in his ears.

Delicate silver filigree holds an array of sparkling white diamonds, dripping down from a half-chrysanthemum into drops of glittering petals. On Rothys, synthetic won’t do; these will be planet-mined, rare and ridiculous. More than that, what they symbolize is quite literally priceless. This is a favor from the Nikiforovs; any shadows cast about his involvement in the plot will be instantly silenced. To insult him would be to insult the Nikiforovs themselves.

“Thank you, Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor says.

“It is my honor to serve,” Yuuri replies, in flawless Rothysian. It’s unnecessary with modern translation technology being what it is, but in this place, Yuuri feels it’s only right.

“We speak often of the dangers of forgetting our traditions, and the sins of the galaxy at large.” From his tone, the king is now addressing the entire room and the hungry news cameras. “But even among the vastness of our differences, the common bond of humanity stands between us all. I have heard it boldly said that this incident was a result of galactic interference, but let it be known that it was interrupted by an outsider as well. For this, Katsuki Yuuri has our thanks. He will be shown the respect and appreciation he is due.”

Like something out of a holodrama, everyone in the audience chamber dips into a bow or curtsey. The beautiful finery they’re wearing glimmers as they shift. Yuuri stands stiffly.

Perhaps he died in the blast and this is an extended, complicated dream.

Unlike a dream, the scene doesn’t fade to black. Yuuri is politely directed to stand, muscles tight, at the side of the dias as the rest of the audience commences. The king briefs his people on the current state of affairs, some global and some local; the attack on Viktor’s life isn’t mentioned again.

Life goes on. And soon, Yuuri too will depart.

When he risks a glance at the crown prince, he finds his blue eyes looking right back.

_Stop it_, he tells himself furiously, _you know this cannot be._

* * *

Yuuri has to be very firm and very clear about his wishes, but eventually his attendants arrange for him a passage off-planet and his access to the wider net is restored. This is a good thing, because Phichit is very close to skipping his finals and storming Rothys in a rush. Even Yuuri’s parents are concerned, causing a guilty squirm in his belly. They must’ve heard from the embassy.

His employer wants him in for a debrief ASAP, and Yuuri needs to stop to pay respects to Jacob’s family. His body has already been sent along for interment, unaccompanied by anyone who knew him for the cold journey through space.

Yuuri doesn’t have access to the palace at large, but his room thankfully has a balcony which overlooks a gorgeous courtyard. Rothys’s climate can charitably be described as gray, but a beautiful arrangement of evergreens and sturdy winter-proof shrubs makes the space much brighter than Yuuri’s seen on the planet before. Little walkways wind throughout, though they seem seldom-used.

Yuuri breathes in the crisp air on the balcony. Rothysian clothing is warm enough that the less-chilly-than-normal day is tolerable.

He spent so long to reach this place, and now he’s leaving.

His melancholy mood is interrupted by a pair of figures in white, down on the path.

“Yuuri!” Viktor waves. His younger cousin waves too, much less enthusiastically; his irritation towards Yuuri seems to have thawed.

“Your Highness! Your Grace!” Yuuri hadn’t been expecting to see either of them. The transport is scheduled to leave in an hour.

“I was worried we missed you,” Viktor says, loud over the distance. With the way he’s yelling, the entire palace can probably hear. “We’re here to accompany you to your transport. Are you ready?”

He _is_ fully packed. “Yes! I’ll, um, be right down.”

Worried that it would be rude not to wear it, Yuuri does take the gifted necklace out of his belongings and hastily puts it on, only struggling with the clasp briefly.

The attendants at the door take care of his luggage, so he isn’t dragging bags to meet them. It’s his first time stepping into the courtyard itself, and from this level he can smell the pine-like fragrance of the decorative trees, crisp on the air. Weirder still, as he gets closer he catches a strange scent that can only be from Viktor and Yuri themselves. Yuuri can’t wait to get his implant back; it’s not unpleasant, just unsettling when a long-unused part of his brain declares _alphas_ at only a scent.

Viktor’s eyes flick down to his necklace, and he looks undeniably pleased.

“I know the gardens aren’t as spectacular as what you’ve no doubt seen off-world, but I thought it would be novel to spend some time with you outdoors, for a change.” Viktor extends his arm politely, and Yuuri realises it’s meant for him to hold on to as they walk. Since he’s openly an omega now, and has been given special honor by the royal family, it’s only proper.

Tentatively, Yuuri grips Viktor’s elbow, touch light and muffled by fabric. The duke is looking to the side, a scowl on his angelic face. It makes sense all of a sudden. Yuri hasn’t suddenly developed positive feelings for him, and isn’t motivated to see him off at all -- he’s a chaperone.

Fine gravel crunches beneath their feet as they follow through the paths. Yuuri can feel his cheeks already flushing with cold.

A curved path deep in the garden reveals a particularly spectacular tree: _Angel’s End_. Unlike the rest of the evergreens, the needles of this hulking, glittering tree seemingly glow with rainbows. The tree itself stands only twice as tall is Viktor, but the light from each crystalline branch demands all attention. Dotted throughout are iridescent flowers, sparkling like the priceless jewels they are. _Angel’s End_ is the rare and brilliant the crest of the royal family itself.

“Do you like it?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri realizes his mouth is gaping open, and flushes, embarrassed. “I’ve seen a few of them before.”

Viktor’s shoulders droop. Yuuri wouldn’t have noticed if the hadn’t been holding Viktor’s elbow.

“Only pictures!” Yuuri is quick to correct. They’re nearly extinct, and haven’t been able to be cultivated anywhere but Rothys. “And they’re nothing like the real thing!”

“They were almost lost through terraforming, but I believe they are the most beautiful native Rothysian plant.” Viktor brushes his hand gently against a branch, the needles shift easily over his white gloves. “They’re surprisingly soft.”

They _are_ soft. With Yuuri’s touch, the pattern of light put off changes, reflections choosing new angles in mesmerizing ways.

“It’s beautiful,” Yuuri says, and finds the word lacking.

So distracted by the tree, Yuuri almost misses the slight sound of shifting gravel. There are many benign and easy explanations: servants approaching, other royals, one of the gardeners who lovingly tends this place.

The crisp air fills his lungs: the scents of dirt and growing plants, of Viktor and Yuri’s confusing alpha musk, of Yuuri’s own unfamiliar/familiar sweet scent. Perhaps his senses are heightened as the last of the suppressants are leaving his body, but Yuuri detects the slightest edge of metal and fear.

Yuuri tugs Viktor down just in time for a bright bolt to arch where his head had been seconds earlier.

“Viktor!” Yuri says, crouching down.

Decisively, Viktor pulls them both in, close enough that Yuuri’s cheek is pressed against Viktor’s chest. He pulls out a small personal shield device and taps it just in time for another arc of light to hit the shield and disperse around them.

Yuuri tries to spot the attacker, but the trees and shrubs around them are dense and the pulsing forceshield distorts his vision.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Viktor says, low. Yuuri can smell thick fear, and is mortified to realize it’s coming off of him -- he’s never had to control his scent before. “Security was alerted the second I popped the shield, we’re safe.”

Yuri’s looking frantically around, but his hands betray him. Hes’ gripping Viktor’s jacket with a white-knuckled grip.

Yuuri wishes he could blame it on new hormones, but he’s always been easy to cry, and his face is wet now. Viktor’s firm grip helps him feel safe, anchored.

That was _so close_. What if he hadn’t been fast enough? Viktor would--

Security arrives within seconds, clearing the area and also forming a human shield around their group.

“Are you hurt, Your Highness?” Medstaff holding scanners swarm, but they’re all perfectly fine, just very shaken.

On the ground, part of an _Angel’s End_ branch lays in the gray dirt, a casualty from the first beam. Yuuri finds himself fixating on it until they’re shuffled away, back into the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out in time for Yuuri's birthday (Japan time), and I did it!!! :D HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YUURI! And Happy Thanksgiving to all the US folks <3
> 
> Special sparkle tree is dedicated to Athra.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Athra & James for their beta skills!!

This latest attempt on Viktor’s life will not appear on the net. To show that level of weakness, to admit that someone had breached so deeply into the palace again, would be the height of foolishness.

“Your transport will be leaving soon,” Yuri says. Dr. Golubev was dispatched again to tend to them, rather uselessly since there are no injuries. He’d scanned them over dutifully and then retreated, leaving them alone in his sealed, windowless office. The air smells like dust and wood varnish and ornate bookshelves with real leather-bound books lining the wall.

All thoughts of the transport had vanished from Yuuri’s mind. His luggage must already be loaded, waiting patiently on the ship.

“He’s right, you’ll miss it if you don’t hurry.” Viktor’s hair is a little mussed, but his eyes are clear and blue when as he looks into Yuuri’s.

“Is now the right time?” Yuuri asks. He’s very conscious of the fear-scent that still permeates his clothes: embarrassing, weak.

“Do you like getting shot at?” Yuri asks.

_“Yura,”_ Viktor says, sharp. A warning.

“I don’t think it was me they were shooting at,” Yuuri says. He’s nowhere near important enough for that kind of attention.

“It wasn’t,” Viktor says. His gaze is far away as he taps a finger against his lip.

“What will you do?” It’s bold to ask, to question a royal, but Yuuri has to know.

Viktor turns to him and forces a smile. “We have protocols for this, don’t worry. Perhaps we’ll take a visit to the summer palace. It’s up in the mountains and much easier to secure. Plus, the views are lovely.”

If even the inner courtyard of the palace isn’t safe, what will be? Yuuri bites his lip. The glittering necklace against his chest sits heavily. He turns to Viktor.

“You should come with me,” Yuuri says.

“Excuse me?” Viktor’s expression is unmasked surprise.

“You should come with me,” Yuuri says, rushing before he can be shut down, “escort me home. It will take at least a week there and a week back, and a ship is much easier to secure than anything planetside.”

“You can’t _leave_,” Yuri says, standing. “Uncle would never let you leave.”

“They do seem to be targeting only me,” Viktor says, “there have been no attacks on anyone else.”

“Two weeks should buy enough time for your security to make progress in this,” Yuuri says, hoping he’s right. It would at least give them a head start. He keeps seeing the Angel’s End branch in the dust.

“Viktor, you know you can’t leave,” Yuri cuts in, voice getting more emotional. “And you’ve only been attacked when you’re around _him_, how is following him going to change anything?”

“This could work. The press would readily assume I was going to ask permission to court you,” Viktor says, “to speak with your parents. That would certainly be allowed.”

Yuuri had _not_ considered that. “I didn’t mean—“

Yuri moves to stand, crowding in towards Viktor. He sounds truly angry, but even to Yuuri’s untrained nose he can smell fear alongside. “You are the Crown Prince, you absolute idiot.”

“No one would believe—“ Yuuri tries. He’s fighting a natural reaction to shrink back within himself, in the face of the alphas.

Viktor stands to his full height, towering over his cousin, intimidating and icy. “As the Crown Prince, I have the right to choose whomsoever I wish. It’s one of the very, very few choices afforded to me in this life. Our internal security is compromised, this plan is completely valid.”

The tense standoff eventually breaks, with Yuri sulkily bowing his head. Yuuri feels like he can breathe again.

Viktor turns to Yuuri and tries for a smile, extending his hand. “It’s a great idea, thank you, Yuuri. The courting request could just be a cover, of course.”

“Shouldn’t we choose a believable cover?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor’s expression goes a little plastic. “Well, I can’t think of any other reason I’d be allowed to go away.”

No other solutions come to mind. “I suppose, I mean, if you’re okay with it,” Yuuri says.

“Perfectly.” Viktor looks thoughtful again. “You should go to the transport right away then. I’ll speak to my father at once and meet you there. I’ll bring a light security detail.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for a private ship?” The transport Yuuri is scheduled on is small, economy class.

“Less chance of it being contaminated if we leave on this one,” Viktor says, holding out his hand. “What do you say, Yuuri, take me away from it all?”

Yuuri feels his face flush deep red.

* * *

The power dynamics between Viktor and his alpha father are difficult, to put it mildly. As heir apparent, Viktor has been raised to command. The only place that authority stops is with the king, and Viktor has chafed against that restriction for as long as he can remember.

Viktor can choose any omega he wishes, by royal right. It doesn’t say anything about galactics. It took all of Viktor’s persuasive powers, but the king appreciates bold and decisive actions, and the assassination attempts have him shaken.

It would be lovely if the courtship were real, Viktor muses, and he really was off on a journey to ask for Yuuri’s hand. If it was that simple, like a children’s tale.

Viktor lives firmly rooted in reality, and even those daydreams of Yuuri at his side are dampened by the knowledge of what the weight of royal expectations would do to him. Yuuri’s brave, smart, and free -- he doesn’t deserve to be trapped on a backwards planet and have his responsibilities reduced to producing heirs. Viktor couldn’t do that to Yuuri, not with the intimate knowledge he has of just what it costs.

“What am I supposed to do?” Yuri has to double his pace to keep up with Viktor’s longer strides.

“Protective custody, of course. I’m sure they won’t mind if you bring your cat this time.” Viktor’s blood is singing with a mix of adrenaline from the near miss and giddiness at the chance for adventure. He should feel guilty for forcing his cousin to bear the weight of responsibility Viktor himself normally holds, but in the moment he does not.

Double the normal amount of bodyguards walk alongside them, footsteps loud on the polished stone. The wall of windows that normally lines the hall is covered with thick curtains, making the usually bright path dim.

“Just because a pretty omega is stupidly bold enough to speak with you--”

“Yura,” Viktor says, full of warning. “Watch it.”

His cousin, although he’s grown in height the last few years, is still more than a head shorter than him. Viktor ruffles his hair, taking small delight in mussing the fine gold strands. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises.

“You better,” Yuri says.

Their private spaceport sits on the edge of the palace. The architecture is significantly more modern looking than the rest of the grounds, with sleek and mostly utilitarian styling. Viktor parts with his cousin at the sliding doors, leaving him with another slight pat on the back.

Yuuri’s waiting for him just outside the ship’s airlock, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. Viktor feels something complicated pass through his chest, a surge of new emotions he can’t put words to.

One of Viktor’s bodyguards strides ahead, carrying Viktor’s luggage. He’ll still be retaining three bodyguards on this trip, one of whom will be piloting. The rest of the crew has been given enough money to keep quiet on the matter, and will be remaining in isolation on Rothys until the transport returns.

“Your father agreed?” Yuuri asks. He still isn’t adept at controlling his scent, and Viktor tries not to breathe too deeply.

“Eventually,” Viktor says. “This should allow us some time, anyway. Your plan is very brilliant!”

This may not be a real courtship, but Viktor is very validated to see that he can still make Yuuri flush with such simple flirting.

Yuuri gestures for Viktor to board, and Viktor strides forward into the unknown.

* * *

It’s a standard galactic transport, a small one. There isn’t much sense in sending a large one to Rothys, because no one wants to go there and no one on the planet really leaves.

“Is this the whole thing? Really?” Viktor sounds delighted about the cramped space.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Yuuri says, biting his lip to hold back a smile.

“Yuuri,” Viktor scolds. “No honorifics here.”

“Ah, sorry.”

With the ship security-sweeped and safely in transit out of the Rothysian system, two of Viktor’s bodyguards have retreated to the cramped flight deck, and the third to the smallest cabin, leaving Viktor and Yuuri unchaperoned as they explore the tiny vessel. Yuuri feels his heart flutter at the obviously false implication.

It doesn’t take long to take stock of the entire ship, small as it is. Viktor and Yuuri end up in the compact lounge area at the rear of the craft. There are a few low, gray couches facing the wide horizontal viewport. Viktor sits down gently in one, eyes on the stars.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. Viktor has never left his planet before. Yuuri knows this — has known this — but somehow has never really processed what that means.

“I didn’t realize how different it would be in person.” Viktor’s fine, embroidered outfit stands out against the stark interior of the lounge, like someone from another time suddenly pulled into the present. The juxtaposition is striking.

“I felt the same, the first time we left our world,” Yuuri says, soft.

“How old were you?” Viktor’s gaze switches from the stars to Yuuri.

Yuuri has to think a moment. “I must have been six or seven? It was a gift from my mother’s best friend, a short trip away. My parents own their own business and can rarely leave, but she organized help to cover for them so we could go.”

“That sounds lovely.” Viktor’s voice sounds wistful, but that might just be Yuuri projecting. “I bet you were very excited.”

“I wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks. My sister got so fed up with me that she hid my tablet, so I would stop showing everyone who came into the inn videos I made.”

“How cruel!”

“It’s alright. My mom made her give it back.” After Yuuri had a full-on crying tantrum because his sister took his “star pictures” away.

Even the best starship engines have a low hum. Yuuri finds his gaze drawn to the viewport again, at the streaks of stars as they journey past.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says. “Why did you choose Rothys?”

Isn’t that the question? At school, everyone who had learned of his ambition inevitably asked, with the same incredulous tone. Yuuri was top of his class, and could choose anywhere in the galaxy to be.

Yuuri twines his gloved fingers together, gaze fixed on his lap. For classmates, for acquaintances, he’d brush them off with a not-quite-truth._ I like history! The politics are interesting! Rothys’s unique way of doing things is a challenge!_

Viktor doesn’t deserve half-truths. And here, alone together on a tiny ship, maybe Yuuri can put words to it.

“When I was little,” Yuuri begins, “I was really into dogs.”

It sounds stupid. Viktor doesn’t interrupt him.

“I’d watch a lot of videos about them, and read about them, you know, in the way kids do.”

Outside the viewport, there are the telltale shimmers and flickers of a cosmic dust field, rippling as they pass through.

“I was watching a video on ancient dog breeds — ones that aren’t so common anymore, or don’t do well off of earth for one reason or another.” Yuuri swallows. “And I saw you. Or! I mean, I saw your dog of course, she’s lovely, and then I saw you.”

Yuuri isn’t made for telling truths like this, but something pushes him forward.

“It wasn’t a video or anything, just a still shot of you posing with your family at an official function. The outfits, the room you were in, with polished wood and gold, it was so different from anything I knew, it was like you were in a different universe. I looked up everything I could about Rothys, about you and your poodle, but there wasn’t much available at my grade level.”

What Yuuri doesn’t have the bravery to say is that in that photo of a young Viktor, beautiful and elegant, and seen someone a little like himself. A familiar loneliness, of feeling-apart.

“So I went above my grade level, and I studied, and it was so different than anything in my life that I just sort of fell into it. Eventually, I worked hard enough that my parents got me my own little poodle, which was far, far too expensive—“

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, hushed.

He pushes on, “So I guess, that’s why I chose Rothys. You drew me in.”

Words aren’t Yuuri’s strong suit, not when he needs them to convey what he’s feeling. His shoulders are so tense.

“Wow,” Viktor says.

God, he’s been doing nothing but babbling. Yuuri bites his lip again, mortified with himself. The silence stretches.

“What’s their name? Your dog.” Viktor doesn’t sound annoyed. Yuuri can’t look at him.

“Vicchan,” Yuuri admits, and no power on earth can make him fess up to what that derives from.

“Vicchan,” Viktor echoes. “A lovely name. I wish I had been able to introduce you to Makkachin while you were on Rothys, I’m sure she would have loved to meet you.”

Yuuri imagines running his hands along her fluffy curls, and is struck with missing his own dog so strongly for a moment that he’s overcome.

“Next time, then,” Viktor says. “When we aren’t so busy.”

“What?”

“You can meet her next time you’re on Rothys, of course. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yuuri is quick to assure.

From their view, the stars outside look close enough that you could bridge the gap between them with a finger. Perspective is odd like that. But the empty spaces between stars cover insurmountable distances a single person can’t just walk across, no matter how determined they are, no matter how close it looks to the eye.

They sit in silence, on opposite sides of the couch.

* * *

Of the three bodyguards on the journey with them, Yuuri still hasn’t learned a single name. All of them are nearly silent, serious, tall betas, who largely stay out of their way.

“You’re certain this is food?”

Viktor is eyeing his lightly-bubbling drink with suspicion. Yuuri can’t help but smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’ve had it before?” Viktor takes a tentative sip.

“It was my roommate’s favorite, actually.” Phichit liked to stop at their local shop after class, to sample all the different flavors and post cutting reviews on the net. “Make sure to chew the bubbles.”

Yuuri didn’t expect this small ship to stock the brightly-colored drinks, but he’d been pleasantly surprised to discover a few in the ship’s small kitchen.

“So sweet,” Viktor says, making a face.

Yuuri takes a more confident sip of his own. How had he ended up here, drinking Cybee Fizz with the crown prince of Rothys?

Viktor sets his too-sweet drink down, then goes to get some water instead. Nearly half their journey is over -- no communications have come in from Rothys yet, so as to keep their journey undercover. The courtship trip story will only be released to the public retroactively, when Viktor is back, safe and sound.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “are you feeling okay?”

Yuuri blinks. “Yes?”

Viktor’s nose is a little pink.

He’s been feeling just fine. Sure, the atmospheric controls seem to be set very low, so he’d been forced to steal a few extra blankets from the supply closet. “Why do you ask?”

Viktor clears his throat. “Your scent.”

Yuuri instinctively takes a deep breath, but all he can smell is Viktor.

Viktor takes off his glove, then reaches towards Yuuri’s face, stopping before skin meets skin. “May I?”

“Of course.”

Viktor’s hand on his cheek is very gentle, holding for just a beat and then retreating. His fingers feel abnormally cool against Yuuri’s skin.

“Right,” Viktor says, unusually tense. He quickly puts his glove back on. “Yuuri, I think it might be best if you stayed in your room for the rest of the journey.”

“I don’t feel sick--”

“You’re not sick. I’m fairly sure you’re in pre-heat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw Yuuri casually destroys your outline by deciding to go to space. It's fine. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter warnings: Violence, minor character death**
> 
> An additional chapter has been added to accommodate Yuuri personally destroying my outline. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, to Athra & James for the beta!! <3

Watching the realization hit Yuuri is deeply unpleasant. He recoils, eyes shuttering, scent–that he is so bad at controlling–filled with sudden upset. The reaction isn’t unfair.

Viktor tries to think of the situation from Yuuri’s perspective: he’s always been suppressed, absent from his secondary gender. Now his body is doing strange things outside of his control, powerful things.

Viktor backs up a few steps to avoid upsetting him further, hands held out uselessly. Empathy isn’t something Viktor is known for, but Yuuri’s distress feels like his own. “It’ll be just fine, Yuuri! When we arrive they should be able to give you something to stop it, right?”

“Right,” Yuuri says, voice far away.

“Pre-heat can last up to a week,” Viktor says, not that he has any personal experience with it. “We’ll be there in plenty of time.”

Yuuri’s chest rises and falls in a few deep breaths that Viktor finds himself unconsciously matching.

“Of course. It’ll be fine. I’m very sorry about this.”

Viktor laughs. “It’s no fault of yours at all. If anything it’s mine, your implant was destroyed in my defense.”

The prospect of being denied Yuuri’s company for the remainder of the trip is depressing. Everything on the small ship is foreign and thrilling, as pathetic as Viktor knows that must be. He’s rarely been allowed outside of his cage before, and never to this degree, with stars outside the windows as far as the eye can see.

“I’ll be in my room, then.” Yuuri practically scuttles away.

The door slides shut behind him, leaving only Yuuri’s scent behind, quickly fading.

Viktor wants to sulk a bit, already missing Yuuri’s company. Instead he makes his way to the front of the ship to discuss the situation with his staff.

Aleksei isn’t in his room, which is odd. This is supposed to be his rest time. Perhaps Viktor had gotten the schedule mixed up? But no, then either Elena or Ruslan should have been resting instead. They’re not in the kitchen, or any of the other facilities.

Viktor opens the door to the command deck with his nerves on edge. Elena and Aleksei are there, slumped over the front console. He only has moments to take in the scene before he’s blocking a blow from Ruslan aimed at his neck.

There isn’t time to think; Viktor’s self defense training kicks in immediately alongside the fierce drumbeat of his heart.

Ruslan has a knife, glinting bright in his hand. Head full of betrayal — using techniques he honed while practicing with Ruslan in childhood — Viktor dodges another blow aimed for his chest.

Viktor considers himself a very clear-headed alpha. It never does to succumb to the type of explosive anger and violence alphas are known for, as that type of behavior is beneath a ruler. But here, he is angry, shocked. Elena and Aleksei aren’t moving. The expression of Ruslan’s face is cold, empty.

With all the strength he has, boosted by the knowledge that Yuuri is defenseless and upset mere meters away, Viktor gains the upper hand in the fight, wresting the knife from Ruslan and throwing it as far as he can.

“_Why_?” Viktor asks.

Ruslan is breathing hard. He’s always been taller than Viktor, but the way he’s looking down at him now is completely foreign.

Viktor needs a weapon. The air smells like blood, and although he can’t spare much attention for his other bodyguards, the complete lack of movement tells him that they’re either very injured or dead. With one swift movement, Viktor grabs the disruptor from Elena’s belt and points it at Ruslan.

“Even you’re not stupid enough to fire that here.” Despite his words, Ruslan has switched to his disruptor as well.

“I’ve been doing a lot of stupid things lately.” If he fires and misses, the damage to the ship could be catastrophic.

“Haven’t you just,” Ruslan sneers. “I shouldn’t even be the one doing this! You were supposed to stay on the planet, not go off to chase some foreign omega.”

Yet another move by Yuuri that saved his life. For the rot to have reached this deep, to his own bodyguards…

“What did Elena and Aleksei ever do to deserve this?” The friendship between them could not have been fake, surely. _I have to keep him talking,_ Viktor knows, _just a little longer._ If Ruslan gets the upper hand, Viktor and then Yuuri will be swiftly murdered.

“They did nothing to deserve it, nothing, and now their death is on your conscience as well. You forced my hand!” Ruslan edges closer to one of the control panels as he yells, and Viktor knows that time is running out.

“They trusted you.” _So did I_.

“My only regret is that I won’t get a chance to kill that omega whore in front of you,” Ruslan yells, lunging.

Viktor aims and fires with pinpoint accuracy. The blast hits Ruslan solidly in the chest, spreading out in a burst of deadly light.

It’s hard to catch his breath in the sudden silence, but Viktor tries. Once he’s able to move, he mechanically checks the pulse of Elena and Aleksei, and his fears are confirmed. They’re both dead, with thin trails of blood from their nose and mouth, but no other visible wounds. As betas, they don’t have a personal scent, but something burns metallic in his nose, bitter and arcid.

His hands are shaking. It smells like poison._ Yuuri!_

Yuuri’s room feels further than it really is, as Viktor races towards it with long strides. He presses the door chime a few times, frantic, and when Yuuri answers Viktor sags in relief. He looks quite alive.

Yuuri’s expression shifts quickly from surprised to confused, no doubt taking in Viktor’s disheveled look. Mindful of Yuuri’s sensitive state, he tries to reign in his own scent. It’s normally not an issue to control it, but the high emotions in the fight have made themselves known, sharp and sour.

“Viktor, what’s wrong?” In the short time they’ve been apart, Yuuri has changed into what must be his sleep clothing, soft and black.

In a matter of steps, Viktor is before him, cupping his cheek with a gloved hand. “Yuuri. Are you in any pain? Any difficulty breathing? Please tell me right away if you feel anything unusual.”

Yuuri’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?”

Viktor runs his fingers through his own hair. “Do you know how to pilot a ship?”

Yuuri reaches up and pulls Viktor’s hand down into his own, bold. “Viktor. I’m fine. Tell me what happened,” he orders.

His father or cousin would have bristled immediately at an omega ordering them around. Viktor finds himself reassured instead, anchored. Less alone.

Viktor stands tall and lets his useful public mask fall over his expression. “I located the assassin just now. It was one of my bodyguards, Ruslan. He dispatched my other guards, so we are unfortunately quite alone on the ship.”

“Ruslan?” Yuuri’s still holding his hand. Viktor wishes he himself wasn’t wearing gloves. “I can’t believe it!”

“I wouldn’t have either, but he admitted it himself.” Viktor will have trouble getting his murderous expression out of his mind for some time to come.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks. Sadly, he seems to realize their hands are still linked, and lets go with a wince. Viktor’s fingers involuntarily chase his grip for a moment.

“I’m not injured,” Viktor says, aware he isn’t answering the question. “The most important thing right now is checking our course -- he was alone on the bridge and I’m not sure if it’s been compromised or not.”

“I’ll check right away,” Yuuri says, shoving his socked feet into a plain set of slippers. “I know the basics at least.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says, and means it.

* * *

The short walk to the command deck is tense but efficient. When the door slides open, a terrible cloud of fear, anger, and blood rolls out, temporarily overwhelming Yuuri’s oversensitive nose. He breathes through his mouth in an attempt to mitigate it. Having barely interacted with the bodyguards on their journey, their loss isn’t personal as it is for Viktor. Their sudden death is still enough to make his stomach churn.

He should be panicking. Yuuri is known for his weak nerves. With somewhere to channel his energy, his nerves haven’t had a chance to get involved. Yet.

These were Viktor’s friends and companions. Elena and Aleksei are piled up on one side of the small room like luggage, blood on their faces. Ruslan, nearly unrecognizable, is hanging half-off the pilot seat, with injuries consistent with a disruptor beam to the chest. Yuui knows that Viktor wouldn’t have fired that risky weapon unless he had absolutely no choice.

Yuuri focuses on what he can do, turning his attention to the displays to judge the ship’s trajectory. He isn’t an expert at navigating these types of ships, or any ships really, but he knows the basics from school, and is more adept than Viktor.

As he’s working, Viktor carefully carries the bodies out, starting with Ruslan. Yuuri can’t bring himself to take the now-free pilot chair, so he hunches over the panels awkwardly.

Thankfully, all systems are green and their course is still correct. It’s a huge relief that he’s happy to share with Viktor when he returns. Autopilot is engaged.

“I think our best course of action is to continue as planned,” Viktor says. “There’s no point in sending a comm to Rothys while we’re so uniquely vulnerable.”

Yuuri nods along. “I think so too. We don’t know if it would be intercepted.”

“Right,” Viktor says. The climate controls on the ship are dutifully filtering out all traces of the fight from the air.

“Where did you-” Yuuri starts to ask, then finds himself unable to finish.

“I put them in the storage compartment, and turned the temperature controls to refrigeration mode.” Viktor looks older now than he did this morning.

“Good thinking,” Yuuri says. With the immediate problem taken care of and the adrenaline wearing off, Yuuri isn’t sure where to go from here. How can he help Viktor? What if someone comes after them?

“You’re shaking,” Viktor says.

“Oh.” Yuuri realizes that’s true in a detached way, and tries to clench his muscles against the tremors, without success.

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this, Yuuri. Especially when you’re in pre-heat. You’ve done nothing but save my life time and time again, and I continue to drag you into danger.”

“I chose to come to Rothys, Viktor. This is my dream, and I followed you of my own free will. I’d do it again.” Yuuri feels empty and very, very cold. Exhausted. To his deep shame, Yuuri feels the wetness on his cheeks, his nerves finally kicking in and amplified by hormones.

It figures that Yuuri’s body would betray him during the one remaining window of time he has with Viktor. pre-heat is something he’d read about in historical texts with a healthy academic detachment, not a bodily cycle he expected to experience.

“I’ll be right back,” Viktor says, “Wait, just a moment.”

Viktor clearly doesn’t know what to do, and in a detached way, Yuuri is slightly annoyed.

When the prince returns with an armful of blankets, his annoyance turns to embarrassment. On Rothys it is customary for omegas to live in relative seclusion during their heats, visited only by their mates. The third ruler of Rothys famously commissioned 500 feather down blankets for his mate to select from, all of them intricately embroidered, and nesting blankets are a cultural item of sorts.

Viktor bringing those to him is so sweet that the tears, momentarily under control, come harder. He presses his hands over his eyes to try and retain a scrap of his pride, even as Viktor begins draping the plain gray blankets around his shoulders.

“Sorry, Yuuri, I’ve never done this before.”

That startles a laugh of of Yuuri. “Me either.”

“You should go back to your room-” Viktor starts, which is ridiculous.

“We both know I need to be here to monitor the ship,” Yuuri says. He wipes his eyes and grips the blanket around his shoulders like a cape.

Viktor’s voice turns tentative, “Perhaps we’d be fine with autopilot.”

“That’s not something I’m comfortable trusting your life to,” Yuuri says. He forces himself to sit in the pilot chair.

“All right,” Viktor says. “Then can you show me how everything works? You can’t be awake for three days, and neither can I. We’re in this together.”

It’s a solid plan. “Okay.”

* * *

Viktor is a quick study, and thankfully the journey itself is uneventful. Even with the atmospheric controls turned up significantly, Yuuri feels the ache of cold deep in his bones, no matter how many blankets are draped around him. The pilot seat is practically a cocoon. Viktor sits next to him in as many layers as ever, gloves on and collar buttoned, but a sheen of sweat on his forehead betrays the fact that they’re both pretty miserable.

When Viktor came aboard, their flightpath changed to a direct shot to Yuuri’s homeworld. Yuuri’s going to touchdown by his family’s inn with a royal prince and three dead bodies, and he can’t imagine a scenario where this plays out smoothly, other than keeping the entire incident under wraps.

“Even if we manage to avoid authorities in the port, I’m going to have to tell my family something once we arrive,” Yuuri says. “My sister can see right through me when I’m lying.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Viktor says, tilting his head up in an arrogant pose. “I’m very convincing.”

Yuuri pictures Mari’s unimpressed face. “The safest course of action is to return to Rothys as scheduled. We’re going to have to lean on your diplomatic immunity to avoid getting local authorities involved. It’ll just be tricky since this visit wasn’t officially registered.”

“I promise to be very difficult. Extremely royal. No one will be allowed on my ship!” Viktor turns and favors him with a smile.

Yuuri laughs. They slip into comfortable silence for a time, all systems showing green. Yuuri has plenty of time to imagine his parents’ reactions to the prince’s arrival. They’ll certainly recognize the focal point of Yuuri’s life, from the carefully handmade posters in his childhood bedroom. _Hi Mom, hi Dad, hi Mari, an alpha prince from a historical romance has flown here to fake date me, don’t look in the ship, hahaha. _His stomach clenches with anxiety, adding to the pre-heat chill.

“You know, if you would like, I could scent you?” Viktor says tentatively.

Inexperience or not, Yuuri knows his scent is out of control. He must be really awful if Viktor is offering something so intimate. “I’m sorry, I can go take a quick shower.” He gets up from the seat, moving the blankets with him.

Viktor rises as well, a crease between his brows. “I don’t mean to offend, Yuuri. I simply thought it may help. Presentation heats are unpredictable, and since you’re unmated we could perhaps stop it from progressing further. That is, if you’re okay with trying.”

It’s a very intimate offer, one he didn’t expect. There’s no one else from Rothys around to be scandalized.

Yuuri would very much like to avoid going into a full-blown heat and begging Viktor to fuck him. He has enough problems as-is.

He swallows. “And you’d be okay with that?”

“Anything I can do to help, Yuuri,” Viktor says, holding his gloved hands up, a respectful distance away.

“Would you like me to?” Viktor’s eyes are so blue, Yuuri feels pinned down by them.

“Yes, please.” The scent glands in his neck throb, bringing with a brief flash of white-hot heat. “Um, h-how, how should I--”

God, he can’t even say it.

Viktor looks around the room, considering. Yuuri’s relieved to see a blush on his cheeks too. “Just sit back down and loosen the blankets a little from your neck.”

Yuuri sits back down and watches with wide eyes as Viktor takes off his white gloves, laying them out neatly on the console. When he starts to undo the tiny buttons at his wrist, Yuuri has to give himself a very firm pep talk. Someone’s bare forearms shouldn’t make him feel so light-headed with want, it’s ridiculous.

_I’m a coward,_ he thinks, closing his eyes and baring his neck to the cool air. The first touch of Viktor’s skin against his is soft, tentative, and almost immediately warmth flows down his skin like sunlit honey, starting in the place where their skin touched and then spreading down. A moan slips out before he can bite his lip, the heat feeling so good after the prolonged cold.

Yuuri slumps back as Viktor scents the other side of his neck, feeling his tense muscles ease. Something very primal assures him that everything is fine, completely under control.

He’d read about this practice in historical texts, but experiencing it himself is completely different. Yuuri understands now the concept of “scent-drunk”, because when Viktor moves to pull away Yuuri moves to grab his arm and keep him from leaving, forgetting all politeness.

“Viktor,” he slurs, soft. He presses his forehead to Viktor’s skin, breathing deep. The chaste touch has him feeling undone.

Viktor lets him rest there, silent and steady.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I CAN EXPLAIN, the chapter count has increased again, but one of those is the epilogue. And it's not another cliffhanger, I promise. I'm posting this early, does that make up for it? :D?
> 
> Thank you as always to James and Athra for the beta. You are the real MVPs.
> 
> **!!!! This fic has art!** It's the most beautiful art in all the land, [please feast your eyes upon it](https://twitter.com/amai892/status/1217612085808500736?s=20). He's so beautiful I cry ;w; Thank you again, amai!

Viktor has never seen anyone respond like that to a simple scenting before. Trusting and pliant, Yuuri follows his touch, letting Viktor tug the suddenly limp omega into his arms and adjust so that he is sitting in his lap. Yuuri had hidden his face against the bare skin of Viktor’s neck, giving him time to appreciate, at length, the soft and silken texture of Yuuri’s hair. It’s both beautiful and dangerous.

“Scent drunk, huh?” Viktor says, soft, after it’s clear Yuuri won’t be moving.

He watches the trip display with unfocused eyes as he weighs their options.

There are two days left in the journey, and the ship’s autopilot hasn’t failed them yet. It’s needed no input from either of them, smoothly routing them through the sea of stars.

If the system has been sabotaged Viktor won’t be able to fix it, and Yuuri admitted that he probably wouldn’t be able to either, not with his skill level. And that was when his senses were unaltered.

Either it’s sabotaged or it’s not, a binary choice neither of them can affect.

Viktor decides they might as well be comfortable, then. There’s no reason for them both to remain on the bridge. Viktor takes the small silver monitoring pod Yuuri showed him and slips it into his pocket, so he can be notified of any errors or messages from other ships, and then hefts Yuuri into his arms.

Yuuri mumbles something against his neck as he’s lifted, and Viktor steels himself in vain against the protective warmth that fills his chest. God, he wishes the circumstances were different—that the vulnerability he was entrusted with was by choice and not necessity.

Yuuri will feel safest in his own room, Viktor decides.

If this were real in the way Viktor dreams, Yuuri would have his own nesting room, filled to the brim with white blankets embroidered with the royal crest. He could ride out his heats in comfort, safe in the palace. If he so desired, Viktor could join him there and ensure he was never left wanting.

Viktor tries to set Yuuri down on the minimalist cot in his quarters, but Yuuri’s grip is tight and he makes a sad sound in the back of his throat. As if bespelled, Viktor sits down with Yuuri still in his arms, obedient and attentive.

Yuuri smells extremely sweet, but he’s not in heat yet. Unmated as he is, this heat can still be staved off, and to that end Viktor scents him again, willing him to calm down. When Yuuri’s breathing evens out in the telltale rhythm of sleep, Viktor allows himself to lay down beside him on top of the blankets and feel the perfect way he fits in his arms. He can have this stolen moment, just for himself, just for now.

* * *

Hot.

The air is stuffy and his clothes are too heavy, scratchy against his sweaty skin. Yuuri tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable, pushing away the blankets that until now had been so critical.

The glands at his neck and wrists feel swollen, and the only thing giving him any comfort is the scent of Viktor in his lungs, which he has just enough residual clarity to be alarmed about. Alpha. He shifts again. Have his pajamas always been this rough? They’re standard issue from the academy and have never given him trouble before. They have to come off immediately.

Viktor shakes his shoulder while he’s trying to wiggle out of his pants, saying something Yuuri can’t process. Yuuri bats him away, pushing aside the blankets with more insistence. Viktor’s hand stops him from pulling his pants down, and Yuuri grumbles and opens his eyes at last.

“Hot,” he whines. Why is Viktor stopping him? He liked to help when he was cold.

“Oh, Yuuri.” Viktor’s eyes are so pretty. Unreal.

To Yuuri’s great distress, Viktor gets out of the bed entirely. Displeasure floods Yuuri’s hazy mind, and he reaches out a desperate hand to grab Viktor’s jacket and pull him closer. The prince dodges his weak grip easily, backing further away, and Yuuri’s heart aches at the rejection.

“I’m so sorry, it didn’t work.” Viktor kneels down at his bedside, but Yuuri doesn’t dare reach out again, confused and hurt. “You’re in full heat.”

That’s bad. Something inside him is screaming in distress, but Yuuri can’t process quite why.

Viktor or no, the temperature is unrelenting. Yuuri stubbornly pushes down his pajama pants, kicking them off and rejoicing as cool air hits his bare legs. He can smell Viktor in the air, and he smells like want, which eases the sting of his rejection just a bit.

Yuuri pulls off his shirt, baring his chest to the air as well and sending a cloud of his scent outwards. Please, it says, please, I need you.

“Ah! No, please keep those on, okay?” Viktor stops his hand before he can pull his briefs down, and the touch of his skin is electric. Yuuri shifts to rub his swollen wrist against Viktor’s, scenting him in a plea. Mine. Please be mine.

“Yuuri, listen, please. I can’t be here, it isn’t safe.” Viktor’s voice is rough. He’s wearing way too many clothes, like always. Rothys is so ridiculous. “Do you understand?”

Viktor’s hand is already on his hip, so it isn’t much for Yuuri to shift and press his aching cloth-covered cock against Viktor’s captured hand. There’s an insistent wetness between his thighs, and Yuuri knows Viktor can help him, his scent broadcasts that he really wants to help him.

Viktor breaks away after Yuuri only manages a brief rub, fully standing and retreating. Yuuri’s legs feel like jelly, but he tries to follow, confused and hurt.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but I have to lock the door. You’ll be just fine. I’ll be back with water in the morning.”

The door slides shut with a metallic click, Viktor on the other side.

Rejected. Tears blur his vision.

The heat can’t be denied, even with his heart in tatters. Alone, Yuuri retreats to the bed and slides off the last of his clothing. He can feel the temperature radiating off his skin, and he knows what must be done to soothe it.

He takes his stiff cock in hand, focusing on the scent of Viktor still lingering on his skin and pretending that he’s still nearby. His cock is small enough that it fits the length of his palm, one of the only outward physical clues that declares his secondary gender. He strokes himself miserably, trying to ease the pressure, but he can’t find release; nothing feels right.

He hasn’t been intimate with anyone before, but Yuuri has always known about his preferences. His fantasies have almost exclusively featured himself on the receiving end of sex, being penetrated. He tries to conjure up those daydreams, of faceless men mounting him from behind, but he can’t hold onto the image for long. Anything outside of this moment is hazy and fake.

Slick is dripping from him.

Yuuri has never felt this way before, never produced this much slick or felt such an overwhelming desire to be fucked. It’s absurdly easy to press his fingers inside himself, and not a question who he’s imagining as he does so.

Viktor. So icily pretty, so cuttingly smart. If Viktor was here, he wouldn’t feel so lonely, or so empty.

Viktor’s an alpha and his cock is certainly sized to match. Much more satisfying than Yuuri’s fingers, which barely stretch him and can’t reach deep, no matter how frantically he fucks himself on them.

His balls feel tight and his cock is achingly erect, but he can’t find release, even as the heat burns through his veins and the repeated motions make his hole feel sore and painful. He’d heard that during a heat pain was muffled, but he hurts nonetheless, clenching and cramping on emptiness.

Yuuri pants into a pillow, miserable, sweating. Time stretches agonizingly slow, the whole of his existence focusing on this room, his desperate need, and what he can’t have. Viktor’s scent is fading.

Viktor’s never had an implant at all, unmodified and pure. Yuuri pictures those pale hands spreading his thighs apart and taking what they’d like from him, his perfect cock stretching him open wide. Viktor’s mouth biting the swollen scent glands on the inside of his thighs, claiming him.

A heat means Yuuri’s fertile, the last of the implant’s control faded. Viktor could breed him, fill his belly with cum and then knot it inside, claim him in a primal and ancient way. A complete modern taboo.

He’s seen it in museums and historical dramas, and there was a chapter about it in his anatomy class, written from a detached perspective. Carrying a child in your own body, instead of the safety of a uterine replicator, an archaic and dangerous practice practiced almost nowhere in the galaxy except stubborn religious groups and anti-tech extremists.

And Rothys.

On Rothys, bodybirth is the standard.

He imagines it, Viktor pulsing inside him, planting his seed deep, marking him inside. Biting into his neck in a rough mating bite, an indicator more clear than any ring. Viktor swelling within him until he can’t pull out at all, joining them as tightly as it’s possible to be joined, and then rocking into him even then, coming again, filling him to bursting. He imagines himself with a swollen belly, full of Viktor’s child.

That does it. Lights flash behind his eyes as he comes, spasming brutally and clenching around his fingers as he rides it out. Release does nothing to quell the heat pulsing through his blood, and he’s stiff again within moments, unbearably warm and unbearably alone.

* * *

Viktor received a galactic education designed to prepare him for the place of his planet in the universe, so he was well aware of the criticisms of his culture. Rothys is full of stubborn fools, clinging to the past and chaining people to roles designated by genetics at birth.

He knows they’re right. The pressure to conform, the opportunities denied, the rigid structure of power and control; all of it seen from the outside must be truly barbaric.

Viktor knows that Rothys is also right. That denying one’s secondary gender, forsaking cultural touchpoints like scenting, nesting, and mating, is cruel as well, denying a critical part of what makes everyone human.

Despite that, Viktor hates that he’s dragged Yuuri into such a painful part of it.

A solo heat is excruciating. Young omegas are usually drugged through it with traditional medicines, to spare them the pain and preserve their virtue. An unpartnered heat is a form of torture, genuinely bad for health and mental well-being.

He can see why people like Yuuri have done away with it all-together.

And now, Yuuri is going through one alone, because of Viktor. He’s powerless to help, reduced to pacing the short corridor of the ship while he waits.

It would be easy for Yuuri to get dehydrated, without anyone to care for him. Viktor’s left him alone for eight hours now, and he hovers at the threshold to his door with a water glass in hand, steeling himself, debating what’s best.

Yuuri’s a very private person and would hate to have anyone see him in this way. Viktor vows to keep their interaction as respectful as he can possibly manage. He cleaned himself thoroughly and put on a fresh, full-cover outfit, with the only exposed skin being on his face. The goal is to appear as close to a scentless beta as he can, safe and non-threatening.

Viktor swallows and unlocks the door.

Yuuri’s scent hits him as it opens: powerful, sweet, and deliciously fertile. In the dim light of the room, Yuuri’s easy to spot. His dark gaze snaps to Viktor immediately from his naked sprawl on the bed. Viktor tries to focus on his face, but he can’t block out the fact that Yuuri has his slick-covered fingers inside himself, even as Viktor walks forward and presents the glass.

“Viktor!” Yuuri sounds so happy to see him. He tries to sit up, but his limbs are uncoordinated and weak. Viktor catches him by the shoulder and determinedly looks only into Yuuri’s hazy brown eyes.

“Here I am. Can you drink this for me?” He holds the glass to Yuuri’s lips.

Yuuri’s looks him up and down, distracted, dodging the glass. “Are you real?”

Viktor really wants to scent him and ease his distress, but that would go south quickly. “I’m real. Please drink this?”

He presses it to Yuuri’s lips again, and although Yuuri narrows his eyes, he takes a small sip and then another. Viktor stays until he’s drained his glass, arm around his shoulders in support.

“Thank you.” Viktor allows himself to lean forward and press a chaste kiss against his hairline, squeezing Yuuri’s shoulder before backing away. Yuuri tries to follow him as he goes, his scent spiking into sour distress.

“Wait!”

Viktor knows that if he pauses for even a moment he’ll break and join Yuuri in that bed, so he doesn’t turn back. He isn’t fast enough to miss the sound of Yuuri beginning to cry, the first few sobs cut off by the door sliding shut.

He locks it again, using the same override Yuuri taught him. Then Viktor sits down on the floor outside and presses his palms into his eyes.

The ship travels onward, through empty space.

* * *

“Katsuki Yuuri, identification 9G803648.” His voice is still a little rough around the edges. “Transporting a representative from independent planet RY102.”

The planet looms before them, a swirl of vibrant blue and green. Unlike Rothys, the visible ice cap is a small white circle sitting primly on top like a crown. They’ve come to a stop just outside of a bright red orbital station, requesting permission to land on the popular vacation planet.

“Acknowledged, landing permission granted.” The traffic coordinator’s voice is suddenly a lot less brusque. “Katsuki, you said?”

Viktor turns to watch Yuuri’s face, intrigued.

“Yes,” Yuuri says. No trace of a heat flush remains on his skin, leaving him pale and somber. Withdrawn.

“Begin descent promptly when it’s your turn in the queue. Thank you, and welcome to Saga.”

“Understood, Thank you.” Yuuri tips his head in an unconscious bow and taps the comm line closed. His outfit is again buttoned-up tight, prim and proper.

They haven’t talked about it. Viktor can’t bring himself to break the strange, fragile air between them post-heat. Yuuri’s scent projects an anxious distress. Viktor has been guiltily releasing calming pheromones, fairly certain that Yuuri’s inexperience with scents will allow him to get away with it.

“Is she a family friend?” Viktor keeps his tone light.

Yuuri blinks; a sweep of dark lashes. “Ah, no. They probably recognized my name because of my sister. She’s, um, fairly famous.”

“Ah,” Viktor says, like he understands.

“She’s a commercial pilot, a fast-courier.” Yuuri waves his hand dismissively, like that dangerous, high-speed profession is no big deal. “She was in the right place at the right time and stopped what would have been a major collision between a freighter and a passenger shuttle in low orbit a few years ago. The net made a big deal about it.”

“Wow.” Viktor smiles. “Seems like selfless heroics run in the blood.”

Ah, there it is. Yuuri blushes. Viktor’s just happy to see some of his vibrancy returning.

“She’s home, from what my mother said when I called ahead, so you’ll meet her.” Yuuri’s eyes remain on the shape of his home planet, curving on the view screen.

“Excellent. I look forward to it. And little Vicchan too, of course.”

Yuuri finally meets his eyes, a slight smile curving his lips at the mention of his poodle. Viktor cheers internally. “They’ll love you, of course. But please forgive them if they make any mistakes in your address; they’ve always supported my interests, but really, they don’t understand how things work on Rothys.”

Viktor’s looking forward to it, truly. “I’m not a prince here, Yuuri. It’s perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to just turn around? We can find a pilot, I’m sure--”

“Another day won’t change anything. Rothys can wait.” This is likely his only chance, after all, despite circumstances being what they are.

When it’s their turn, they begin their descent. Even with the ship’s stabilizers working overtime it is a rough ride. It’s beautiful, the corona of light around their vessel as they enter the upper levels of the atmosphere, and another spacefaring first for Viktor. He’d probably appreciate it better if he was capable of looking away from Yuuri.

* * *

Yuutopia Katsuki is adorable, sleek resort floating in its own climate-controlled atmo-bubble on a thin spike. That tub pumps mineral-rich and geothermally-heated water from the deep ocean up to guests. Yuuri had explained that much of the lush native vegetation on Saga is extremely poisonous, and the atmosphere both filled with toxic pollen and not oxygen-rich enough to support human life. Docking there is more like docking at a space station than a landbound spaceport.

Docking at Yuuri’s family home further ensures no one will enter or tamper with their ship; they connect in the backside of the resort, where deliveries are usually made, instead of the guest area.

A woman with two-toned hair and a deadpan expression is their sole greeter as they exit. Her outfit is a mix of unfamiliar colors and styles, to Viktor’s eyes, that gives nothing away of her dynamic, rank, or family.

“Long time no see,” she says. She has Yuuri’s eyes.

“Sorry for not calling ahead.” Yuuri scratches the back of his neck, awkward.

“It’s fine. You know you’re always welcome.”

This must be Mari. She looks Viktor up and down, unimpressed.

Yuuri clears his throat. “Ah, may I introduce you to His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Rothys, Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Hmmm,” Mari inclines her head, just briefly. She’s shorter than Yuuri. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. Renowned hero, Mari Katsuki, I presume?” Viktor turns up the charm.

That earns him a smirk. Mari grabs the luggage from Yuuri’s hand and starts walking away; Viktor and Yuuri hurry to keep up with her pace. 

The resort proper is crowded with a number of varied and garishly-dressed visitors, sprawled out in the many pools available. Viktor marvels at the vibrant golden old-Earth palm trees and the beautifully-manicured flower gardens. It’s bioengineering on a grand scale. A true son of Rothys should turn his nose up at the technological bastardization, but Viktor can only marvel at their charm. The whole structure feels more like a spaceship than a home, to Viktor’s eye. It’s all manufactured materials: sharp, gleaming, and elegant. It’s as different as can be from the dark woods and embroidered finery he’s accustomed to. Is this how Yuuri felt all those years ago, seeing a snapshot of Rothys for the first time? It's the appeal of the unknown.

Mari leads them into the main building and up a lift, trailing luggage. Viktor, a born royal, can see the confidence in the way she holds herself. The lift is transparent, allowing a view of the resort as a whole. They ride to the top floor.

“Family quarters,” Yuuri explains. “It’ll be more private.”

The doors slide open to a much more domestic scene: framed family photos, knick-knacks, a glowing family schedule console. The sound of tiny claws clicking against the floor and excited barking signals the arrival of a miniature Makkachin, skittering past Mari and the luggage and heading straight for Yuuri. He kneels down as the tiny poodle reaches him and climbs up to lick his face.

He’s so small. What can only be Vicchan’s tiny tail wiggles in a blur of canine joy as he kisses Yuuri again and again. It’s good to see Yuuri’s real smile. Viktor is self-aware enough to recognize he’s a little jealous, and to know that that's ridiculous.

Yuuri scoops the small poodle in his arms and holds him out to Viktor, who can’t hold a grudge against a creature so cute.

“Hello there, lovely.” Vicchan eagerly sniffs his hand and greets him with kisses as well. Viktor misses his Makkachin fiercely.

"I told you he'd remember you," Mari says.

Yuuri thought his own dog would forget him?

"Have you been away long?" Viktor asks.

"Five years," Mari says, before Yuuri can, "but it's okay. We understand."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not like I'm home much either." Mari reaches out and ruffles his hair.

Vicchan has settled in Yuuri's arms, a little bundle of curls.

Mari turns to Viktor. “You’re welcome in our guest room. It’s next to Yuuri’s, he can show you where the towels and such are. Mom and Dad are in the family room; dinner will be ready any minute if you’re up for it.”

“Thank you, Mari-neesan.”

Mari ruffles her brother’s hair again, casually affectionate, before departing with a wave. No formalities. 

“It’s not much,” Yuuri apologizes, smoothing his hair back down. He opens up the guest room, which features floor-to-ceiling window view out of the planet's natural climate, a small bed, and a nightstand. A few boxes sit in the corner, this room probably used for storage more than anything else. 

Viktor sets his bag down. “Nonsense, Yuuri. This is fantastic.”

He means it.

* * *

Viktor doesn’t fuss with the edge of his borrowed jinbei, but he’d like to. The foreign clothing is fascinating, more casual than anything at home.

“Would you like seconds?” Yuuri’s mother asks, cheeks dimpling with her smile. Before he can reply, she serves him more anyway.

It’s rude to refuse food that’s been served, as especially food this delicious. 

The Katsukis are delightful. Scandalously informal—Mama Katsuki had pinched Viktor’s cheek—but in a warm way. The tangle of politics back home, the corpses on the transport ship, Viktor pushes them away from his mind, just for now. 

Yuuri briefed his family as well as he could about the reason for their arrival, apologizing again for the surprise. It really couldn't be helped, but they take it in stride.

"So, this was your first time on another planet? No shame in that! We didn't leave ours until our honeymoon," Toshiya says, "didn't we, dear?"

"Yes," Hiroko's smile dimples her cheeks. "And we had a lovely time! A journey to Old Earth itself. Between you and me, it's much prettier than the holovids make it out to be, but _crowded_."

The conversation stays light; straight-forward. There are no layers of posturing and politics at all. Yuuri blends right in with his family, as easily as he'd blended with the customs of Rothys. His skills as a cultural translator are undeniable.

Regretfully, all things must come to an end. Viktor stands. “Thank you again for your hospitality, and the company of your son. If not for him, I wouldn’t be standing before you at all, and never would have had a chance to meet you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

He bows deeply, hoping his form is correct. He’s never had to before. “Now that Yuuri is safely home, I'm afraid I must depart.”

“So soon?” Toshiya asks. “But you just arrived!”

“I wish I could stay longer, and not just because of your delicious food. But duty calls, as they say. I'm in your debt."

Yuuri follows him down the hall after he makes his goodbyes. Viktor tries to steel his heart. He’s seen what kind of person Yuuri is, and knows he’s going to try something selfless. Before he can make it to his room to gather his luggage, he’s stopped by Yuuri’s hand on the wrist of his green jinbei. 

He sounds distraught. Yuuri, too, had changed into the casual clothing of his home, and the loose-hanging fabric accents his frame in a different way. “Viktor, you can’t go alone.”

“I can and I will.” Viktor extracts his arm. “We’ve proven that the autopilot works perfectly well. And I have to, Yuuri, you know that.”

“Let me go with you!” Yuuri's sets his stance wider, feet solidly rooted. "I know you have to go, but it's stupid to go by yourself."

“My planet tried to kill you. And Ruslan isn't very much of a threat now, is he?" 

“Your planet tried to kill you too, more than once!” Yuuri’s eyes are bright and fierce. “Viktor, you can’t. You absolutely can’t, not alone.”

Viktor thought Yuuri would be upset, but he didn't predict just how much. He pulls up his shoulders and stands tall. “I can't very well stay here. This has always been the plan.”

“That was when you had Elena and Aleksei. Viktor, please.” Yuuri reaches out for his sleeve again, and Viktor dodges. It breaks his heart.

“You forget who you are addressing.” His status may not matter much here, but on Rothys Yuuri could and would be executed for his disrespect. Rothys is brutal in its enforcement of hierarchy. Knowing it’s foul play, Viktor projects dominance through his scent, a cheap plot to make a scent-defenseless Yuuri back down.

Yuuri visibly flinches, but doesn’t step back, or bow his head; he's strong, so much stronger than he looks. His jaw clenches and Viktor can see the strain in his muscles. He feels like an asshole because even now, a part of his brain is marveling at how beautiful Yuuri’s eyes are when he’s determined.

“Your Royal Highness, it’s precisely because of your station that you can’t be defenseless on the return trip. Please, take me with you.” Yuuri’s fists are clenched at his side.

The honorific hurts, but he deserves it. Viktor softens just a bit, for him. “Yuuri, I’m on a courting trip, remember? What do you think you returning with me will mean?”

That does stop him, as realization hits. Viktor wants to wrap him up in his arms and chase that vulnerable expression away.

“Are you saying you’ll accept, be my mate?” He wields the question like a knife. This isn’t how any of this conversation should go, but here they are.

“I,” Yuuri says. He still hasn’t backed down, but the strain his showing. “I understand. If that's what it takes, and if you'll have me, I will. I do.”

Ah, there they are, the words he's wanted to hear, but not in this way. The arrangement isn’t possible, it isn’t. There's no more time for pretend.

“You do, do you? Forgive me for not believing you, but people don’t generally walk into a prison of their own volition.” Viktor steps closer but Yuuri doesn’t flinch. “What you need to do is see one of your doctors and get another implant. What you’ve experienced is only a taste; and once you’re there, there’s no going back.”

Unbelievably, Yuuri leans in, fighting his nature and gripping the front of Viktor’s jacket with a pale fist. “Viktor, there’s already no going back.”

Viktor can’t quite get a full breath in, chest tight. Even to his own ears, his voice is a plea. “I hate what my planet’s forced you to experience, and I can’t bear to have anything else forced upon you. Yuuri, I can’t. You’ve studied Rothys, you know very well what being my mate means; what it requires. You’d be giving up your family, your freedom, your life. I can’t be the person that does this to you.”

“I’m not going into this blind. I know exactly what it means, all of it. Viktor- that is, if you want me,” his expression crumples, then determination reforms, “and I think you do.”

He's _amazing; _incredible, perfect, so beautiful.

“I do.” Viktor says. Nothing has ever been more true. “Yuuri, I do. But-”

Yuuri gives a watery smile. “Then we’ll figure it out. I’m going with you.”

They’re still standing in the hallway. It’s good they’re not outside, since a small breeze could knock Viktor over. “Yuuri.”

He’s so impossibly charmed.

“My bags are still packed,” Yuuri says. “I’ll go get them.”

Overwhelmed, Viktor reaches for Yuuri's wrist and pulls it to his lips, kissing the scent gland there gently, as he’s wanted to for so long. He can see the effect it has on Yuuri, the way he shudders. Yuuri twists their position so their wrists are together, letting their scents intertwine. Of course Yuuri knows Rothysean courting rituals. Something in Viktor's heart glows, newly content.

“Are you sure?” Viktor whispers.

Yuuri leans up and kisses the tip of his nose in answer. His scent is embarrassed and his cheeks are flushed.

“Oi, are you two done?”

Yuuri twitches in his arms, shocked and trying to pull away. Viktor holds firm. “Hello, Mari.”

It appears they’ve had an audience for some time. “Mari, I-” Yuuri starts.

Mari waves him off. “I know where your heart has been since you were tiny, little brother. This isn’t a surprise.”

Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s hand.

“I’m going back,” Yuuri says. “Sorry we couldn’t stay longer.”

“I don’t pretend to understand the details, but I’ve gathered time is of the essence. So, do you want a ride?” Mari offers.

Yuuri’s sister, the famous fast-courier. Of course.

“Your little ship can fit in my cargo hold, no problem. Should take a few days off the travel time. All I ask in exchange is to be invited to the wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been the best at replying to comments, because I am a tongue-tied awkward gremlin, but please know that I appreciate every one. Thank you all so much, they really keep me going.
> 
> For those curious about the Vorkosigan Saga tag, [here is some information on that series by Louis McMaster Bujold](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vorkosigan_Saga). It involves an isolated planet of traditionalist space Russians and their place in the greater galaxy, including a noble of that world falling head-over-heels for smart, brave, space captain from a really advanced and liberal planet. While I didn't lift any plot, locations, or characters, this fic overlaps with general tone and worldbuilding elements (uterine replicators, etc), so I couldn't skip referencing it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Athra and James for the beta <3 Without you catching all my placeholder "PLANETNAME"'s, I'd be lost ;w;
> 
> **!!! There have been some minor edits for consistency, as well as some added scenes for pacing in the previous chapter.** In my original outline, they did not actually go to space, so the matter of Mari's job and the details of Saga were not set. Thank you kind anon for pointing that out!

With Mari’s offer to deliver them personally back, Viktor’s persuaded to stay at least one night. It feels presumptuous to assume Viktor’s thoughts, but Yuuri privately thinks that his desire to leave so abruptly in the first place was because he liked it, here in Yuuri’s home. Liked it too much.

Yuuri is intimately familiar with that feeling: liking something so much you can’t bear to be close to it.

His family has a small patio area on their balcony overlooking the resort, with soft lounge furniture and potted greenery. Yuuri led them out there, after an exhausting conversation with both Mari and his parents, the contents of which Rothysian security would be horrified about.

Ever since the intense experience of his heat, Yuuri’s felt drained and numb. All his emotions bled off, leaving his thoughts muffled and quiet. It’s not peaceful, but having that anxious energy tamped down helped him have that conversation with Viktor. Yuuri isn’t sure he would have been brave enough otherwise.

Viktor could be on his way home alone right now, instead of sitting next to Yuuri with a miniature poodle dozing in his lap.

“The sunsets here are beautiful,” Viktor says. His eyes are fixed on the vibrant gradient of purple and blue on the horizon, visible through the translucent dome. Saga’s three moons are just barely peeking through the haze, rising slowly.

“It’s much prettier at higher latitudes, the atmospheric conditions split it into the full spectrum.” Yuuri had taken a class trip to the polar city of Goera in elementary school, and fell in love with the rainbow sky.

“Wow.” The light of the sunset suits Viktor, bringing out the cool blue of his eyes. He’s beautiful in full royal dress, but even more beautiful in the casual clothes of Yuuri’s home. Bare hands, bare neck -- it’s the most skin on Viktor he’s ever seen. He’s icily pale.

_I proposed to him,_ Yuuri thinks, a spike of something slipping through his cloudy mind. Basically by force. What if he read it wrong? His attraction during his heat was undeniable in his scent, but that was hardly a fair circumstance. The haze after his heat is lifting, bringing back his worries.

“I don’t mean to pry, but is there a reason your famous fast courier sister spends so much time at home?” Viktor’s voice cuts through his thoughts. Vicchan rolls belly-up in his lap to get better tummy rubs.

“She’s, ah, semi-retired.” Yuuri twists his fingers together in his lap. “Mari owns her ship outright, and doesn’t have to take on jobs she’s not interested in.”

“Ah.” Viktor’s gaze is distant.

Yuuri looks back to the sunset, watching the sun make its final dip below the horizon. He hasn’t been home in so long, and with the plan he’s set into motion, he might never be here again, not unless Rothys changes.

“You keep surprising me,” Viktor says, giving the now-sleeping Vicchan a final pat. “I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it.”

“I collected everything there was to know about you,” Yuuri says. “And I was still wrong. You’re the surprising one.”

Viktor puts his arm over Yuuri’s shoulders with a crooked smile. “You think so?”

“Mmm, yes. Absolutely.”

Yuuri swallows, breathing in Viktor’s scent and searching for strength and reassurance. He wants to check, is it really okay? Yuuri, a galactic consort? In the heat of the moment, he’d fought for it, but doubt settles in.

How insulting he’s being, to Viktor’s character. He wouldn’t take this decision lightly.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Yuuri blinks. With the sun now well below the horizon, the stars have faded in, a field of lights.

“I, ah,” Yuuri stalls. He takes a few deep breaths. “I’m not sure how to say it.”

“This is all happening really fast, isn’t it?” Viktor says. “You can take your time.’

Seeking reassurance like this feels pathetic. Still. “Are you sure I’m…” his voice trails off, weak. “I don’t exactly feel qualified to be a royal consort.”

“You’ve studied the culture of Rothys most of your life, Yuuri, and you weren’t even born into that particular mess. You’re more prepared than most Rothysians, in political matters. You play Praxis like a pro.”

He _was_ top of his class. Yuuri shifts uncomfortably.

“By royal right, I can choose any omega I please, so if you’re worried about that, don’t be. We had an entire ceremony declaring you a hero, if you’ve forgotten. You’re beyond worthy.”

No sane person would dare to offend the Crown Prince to his face; not with all the power his family wields. There’s no way to stop gossip behind closed doors, however.

The silver-edged paint on his nails, from the ceremony a lifetime ago, is slightly grown out. Yuuri picks at the edges.

The door slides open and Mari leans out, interrupting. “Yuuri. Answer your comm.”

Yuuri’s neglected comm device isn’t even turned on, it being one of the furthest things from his mind.

“Your cadet friend called _the main line_, trying to reach you. Be nice to the poor kid.”

_Phichit._ Is it fair to take on the affairs of an entire planet when he can’t manage his few friendships? Yuuri scrambles up and away, leaving a cold space at Viktor’s side.

“Be right back!”

* * *

It takes much longer than he promised, because Phichit is both relentless and in need of every single detail.

“So am I invited to the wedding? I am, right?”

Yuuri laughs, incredulous. “That’s your question?”

“Oh, I have loads more, you’re not getting out of this mister.” The connection is much better from Saga, so there’s almost no delay in Phichit’s teasing smile. “I like your nails.”

“Thanks.” Yuuri pulls his hand down from where he’s absent-mindedly gripping his face. “I’ll ask Viktor, there’s no precedent for a galactic wedding, but maybe?”

“Then you can set the precedent. I call best man.”

For a royal wedding, both families would be there, dressed in their family colors and crest. It’s the greatest of honors. The staff could surely watch the inn for a while, right? “I’m not sure how long it will take to make arrangements. It’s going to be more complicated than normal.”

Yuuri hadn’t discussed the exact political details of how everything went down, and had only stuck to the official story for now, in deference to the non-secure connection. Still, Phichit is the most perceptive person Yuuri knows, and he can read Yuuri like a book.

“So he’s there right now? I can meet him?”

“He’s on our balcony right now.” Viktor is incentivized not to move by the sleeping poodle in his lap. “Um, yes.”

“Excellent.” Phichit smoothes back his hair. “Let’s go!”

Yuuri bites back tips on how to interact with Rothysian royalty, which are completely unnecessary. Phichit and Yuuri went to the same academy, and he’s perfectly capable of acting appropriately.

Yuuri holds the comm to his chest as he enters the patio again. “My friend wants to say hi,” he says, lightning quick. “Is that okay?”

Viktor’s smile is so _pretty_. “Sure.”

Yuuri sets his comm on the low table, angling and adjusting its backstand so he and Viktor are in view.

“Phichit, Crown Prince Viktor Nikiforov of Rothys. VIktor, this is my best friend Phichit Chulanont.”

* * *

With the last of Yuuri’s things haphazardly packed and stored on Mari’s ship, it’s time to say goodbye. Not for long, as Viktor has promised they’ll be able to attend the wedding.

Yuuri kneels down on the entryway stairs and looks solemnly into Vicchan’s big, trusting eyes. He’s still just as squirmy as he was as a puppy, chasing Yuuri’s hands and excitedly licking his thumb.

“Is there any way he could come along?” Viktor asks. He’s knelt down too.

“He’s as much my parent’s dog as mine — I haven’t been home in so long, it wouldn’t be right to take him away.” Yuuri scritches behind Vicchan’s ears.

“Oh,” Viktor says. “I suppose. It seems a shame.”

Guilt sits heavy in his gut, because he _so_ wants to be selfish. “He’ll be happier this way.”

Yuuri’s mom appears with a stack of food containers and a determined glint in her eyes. “Just a little picnic for your trip,” she demurs, as Viktor enthusiastically looks it over.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I’ll bring more when we visit. Be safe, honey.” His mom only reaches to about his shoulders, but her hugs are strong enough to lift him off his feet.

Yuuri takes the food and starts to bring it into the ship, watching with an odd, thrumming joy as his mother brings Viktor in for a tight hug as well.

“You be safe, too. I don’t like all this assassination stuff,” she says.

“Me either,” Viktor agrees. He looks so happy. Out of his element, but happy. “Don’t you worry, I’m hoping that’s the last of the assassination stuff. And even if it isn’t, I’ll have Yuuri here to protect me again.”

Yuuri hides in the ship before he can blush more.

* * *

“If you want to stretch your legs, now’s the time. We’ll be powering down once we reach the edge of the system,” Mari warns. Once in transit, fast couriers turn down nonessentials like artificial gravity, directing that energy to the engines instead.

Viktor presents his hand in a courting bow. “May I have the honor of your presence on a stroll, Yuuri?”

“Ah, I mean,” Yuuri laughs, flustered by the ridiculousness of it all. “Yes, you may.”

“Excellent.”

He can _hear_ Mari rolling her eyes.

The ship is bare-bones, with most of its cargo space taken up by Yuuri and Viktor’s original ship. A walkway snakes around the top of the cavernous space, a utilitarian loop. Feeling absurd but also very pleased, Yuuri takes Viktor’s offered arm as they stroll in along the path.

“Not much for a courting walk, but we can make it up at the palace gardens later,” Viktor says.

“Are you not satisfied with the view right now?” Yuuri teases, gesturing to the expanse of dreary bulkheads.

Viktor turns blatantly to Yuuri, looking him up and down, blue eyes heavy with intent. “The view is absolutely lovely.”

Yuuri bites back a gasp; that gaze on him does things to his heart. Honestly. “Viktor!”

“It is!”

The fast courier is, well, fast, and before long it’s time to strap into the seats on the command deck, where the gravity is kept at a level where they’re just able to eat the meals from Yuuri’s parents. Mari and Viktor get along surprisingly well. She waves them off to bed when she notices Yuuri starting to droop in exhaustion, firmly refusing their offers to take watch with her. It’s her ship, she insists with an eyebrow raised, which is usually piloted entirely _alone_. There’s no need for amateurs to flutter about.

As soon as they leave the pilot room, the very low gravity makes itself known. Yuuri’s stomach does a little lurch. His footfalls are much more floaty than he’s experienced outside of dreams. It isn’t the true loss of gravity he’d been trained with at the academy, but an awkward in-between.

Yuuri holds the handrail firmly with one hand and Viktor’s with the other, aware that the prince hasn’t experienced anything like it before. Viktor’s expression is gracefully unaffected, but his tight grip back on Yuuri betrays his alarm.

The ship isn’t set up for passengers, but there is a spare room with a lowgrav hammock. Yuuri and Viktor’s things are set up there, crated and stacked neatly.

“You certainly are taking me to very interesting places,” Viktor says.

“Only the finest accommodations will do,” Yuuri teases.

There is a small viewport looking out at the streaks of stars going past, but like the rest of Mari’s ship, it’s standard-issue modern commercial design; unadorned and gray.

Viktor float-walks over to inspect the hammock. It’s big enough for two, with sewn-in pillows at the top and a zipped blanket cover, built to keep its occupants safe and immobile in the lowered gravity.

Yuuri bites back an offer to ask Mari for an additional bed. They’re about to be married, after all, and Viktor doesn’t seem stressed about it.

“I’ll shower first?” Yuuri asks, grabbing his pajamas and retreating quickly towards the tiny bathroom without waiting for a reply.

He runs the shower a bit too hot, scrubbing himself with nervous energy. Inside that hammock, there won’t be space between them; his scent will betray it all before his body gets a chance.

* * *

Yuuri’s already in the strange hanging nest when Viktor comes out of the bathroom. His hair is merely toweled-dry, since he hadn’t been able to locate a dryer, and sits slightly-damp against his forehead. Showering in low gravity was an experience he does not want to repeat; the odd pressures in the room got water to the floor eventually, but in an unnatural way that left him disconcerted.

The lights are dimmed. He finds his way to Yuuri in near-darkness, taking the offered edge of the blanket and sliding in as casually as he can. It’s a strange emotion for him, but he can recognize that he’s shy right now.

“It seals like this,” Yuuri explains, pressing the edges of the blanket together. The top cover adheres snugly around them; they must be ventilated in some high-tech way, because the end result is cozy and not suffocating.

This close, he can feel Yuuri’s body heat, and clearly scent his anxiety. So sudden, this engagement. Viktor always did jump into things head first.

“How fancy,” Viktor says, patting the smooth, almost-metallic fabric. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt.

Yuuri laughs, a puff of breath. “Fancy? Coming from the royal prince, who has a gem-covered, handmade, embroidered nest?”

“I’m flattered you know so much about my bedroom before you’ve even been in it,” Viktor says, teasing. “And that’s just normal, to me. The decoration and all that.”

Yuuri seems a little more relaxed. “Of course it is.”

Now that Viktor’s eyes have adjusted, he can see the darling way Yuuri’s black hair splays over the pillow next to him. So, so beautiful.

Time to do something about that anxiety. He’d be a disappointment of a prince if he left his intended to feel that way.

Gently, Viktor shifts until he’s able to wrap his arm under Yuuri; the low-gravity makes it much easier. Like this, he tilts Yuuri’s head to rest on his shoulder. He watches closely for any discomfort, but all Yuuri does after a stiff moment is cuddle closer against him.

It’s not like him, to crave touch so much, but he does. Yuuri’s a warm, steady reality; safe and whole.

Emboldened, Viktor gently runs the skin of his inner wrist over the glands on Yuuri’s neck, like he’s wanted to do. It feels amazing, morso when Yuuri clumsily scents him back. When they land on Rothys, he knows the situation will be absolutely crazy, but for the here and now he can finally start to deal with the damage from Yuuri’s painful solo heat.

“Okay?” He asks, knowing the answer but wanting to be reassured.

“Perfect,” Yuuri says, voice muffled.

It takes Viktor a few minutes to realize that the damp on his shoulder is from Yuuri’s tears; the fine shaking from aborted sobs giving it away.

Viktor pulls back immediately, or tries to, but is stopped by Yuuri’s frantic grip.

“What’s wrong?” His scent isn’t distressed at all.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Yuuri says. “I’m happy.”

Viktor snuggles in tighter.

Rather than sleep, he tries to commit this feeling of peace to memory: Yuuri’s weight against his shoulder, the grip of their intertwined fingers, the tiny streaks of stars passing by the viewport as the ship speeds on.

* * *

_Be brave,_ Yuuri commands himself, _this is for Viktor. This is for us_.

Since everything Yuuri’s doing is improper anyway, he decided to wear his formal academy blacks. The only deference to Rothysian style is the beautiful necklace he’d been gifted by the Nikiforov family, which he wears in a calculated play. This meeting is directly with the king, without Viktor present.

Yuuri’s hands are steady as he starts to deal the cards.

“Well, well, well, how interesting indeed.” The king picks up his hand. “Mila mentioned that you played, but I thought it a joke.”

“As a student of Rothysian culture, it seemed only right to become competent at Praxis, Your Majesty.” Yuuri responds in the planet’s language. He worked so hard on his accent, knowing that even though the consonants are more blurred than they should be that his tutor had declared him the best student he’d ever had. Yuuri put in the work for fluency.

“That is true, we do play it quite a bit.” The king lays down his first card, posture relaxed. Yuuri doesn’t have the right to meet his eyes, but he can feel them on him and not the game. “If you intend to be at Vitya’s side, this is a game you’ll grow just as tired of as I have.”

“Perhaps,” Yuuri concedes. He lays down two cards.

The tempo of their game is quite fast. Yuuri barely has to glance at his cards. He knows that this is his chance and every spare bit of his energy is thrown into it. After a period of relative quiet, accented only by the soft paper sounds as each card is set down, the king speaks up again.

“I appreciate what you’ve done for my son, and for my planet. My family line ends with him, so as you can imagine I’m very fond of the boy. But you must understand that I cannot just give my son’s hand in marriage to the first galactic to ask. We have rather a lot of noble houses that would kill for the chance to marry into royalty.”

That’s an understatement.

“I understand, Your Majesty.” Yuuri’s heart is beating hummingbird-fast, but he still keeps his tone steady. In the next hand, he manages to win the full pile of cards, and he pulls them over to his side.

The king swiftly puts down a strong hand of cards. “I suppose you know that one of the traditional ways of courting is the giving of gifts. What is it you are offering to our house, Mr. Katsuki?”

Now is not the time to be meek. He meets the King’s eyes, the same pure blue as VIktor’s.

“His life, Your Majesty.” Yuuri doesn’t have the cards to meet that play. It’s either bluff or concede, so Yuuri puts the next hand facedown, thinking quickly.

“Indeed. A gift of most value. How could I have forgotten?” Even the king’s _laugh_ sounds like Viktor’s. He sets down his hand. “Well, I believe that’s quite enough for today. Have pity on an old man.”

It’s over? Yuuri blinks. They barely started playing. When the king doesn’t say anything, Yuuri looks again to his face; he doesn’t look angry at all.

“You don’t have to look so surprised, Mr. Katsuki.” The king starts to shuffle his hand back into the deck.

“Your Majesty?”

The king reaches out to rest his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I like your boldness. I’ve spoken with Vitya, and you’ve more than proved your worth, little omega. Anyways, that willful child of mine will accept no other.”

He won? Just like that? Yuuri swallows, feeling the wind knocked out of his sails. He prepared for an extended fight.

“Ah, thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down,” Yuuri vows.

“I’m sure you won’t.” His tone is confident.

As the king stands, so does Yuuri, wildly unbalanced.

Viktor greets him with open arms upon his return, and Yuuri allows himself to lean in to the steady reality of his shoulder, hiding his face.

“Well? I see you’re still in one piece,” Viktor says into his hair.

Yuuri grips the fabric of Viktor’s jacket, feeling the raised embroidery and trying to process.

“Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice is more insistent.

“I won,” Yuuri says. It hadn’t felt like the king was pulling punches in Praxis, yet he still was the victor somehow.

“Of course you did, you’re brilliant,” Viktor says. “And?”

“He said okay.”

Viktor squeezes him somehow closer. ”I told you so. He likes you.”

Yuuri reaches up and runs his fingers through the fine strands of silver at the base of Viktor’s neck. “He said you wouldn’t accept anyone else.”

“He’s right.” The confidence in VIktor’s voice is unmistakable. He tilts his face down and surprises Yuuri with a kiss, a sudden press of lips. It’s electric, warm and intimate. Shocked, Yuuri takes a second to respond, tentatively kissing back; Viktor’s lips are very soft.

He can feel the smile on Viktor’s lips through their kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope everyone stays safe and healthy in these interesting times. Sending all my love to each of you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ [With Two Hands - The Romantic Era](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkSAmVyXpPY)♬♩ ♪ ♫

Yuuri drinks a mug of bitter tea he’s been given and holds in a grimace. The thin, delicate teacup with its swirling floral gilt is a Nikiforov heirloom, part of a tea service he’s becoming entirely too familiar with. An attendant brings it to him twice a day, and politely yet pointedly makes sure he drinks all of it before leaving.

The pungent, earthy liquid leaves an aftertaste of smoke in his mouth.

A wedding with an omega is traditionally scheduled around that omega’s natural heat cycle, timing it to allow a fruitful honeymoon. Yuuri’s circumstances being what they are, this presents a challenge. There is no set schedule to reference, and his fluctuating hormones don’t seem to be settling anytime soon, much to the annoyance of the royal staff with a wedding to plan.

Yuuri is eager for it to settle soon for a variety of reasons, the primary one being that until he and Viktor are married they aren’t allowed much time together and the secondary being the great discomfort from his secondary gender spinning him from pre-heat and back in unpredictable, frequent shifts.

“Is the tea helping, do you think?” Viktor asks. There’s a little crease between his brows that betrays his worry.

Years of diplomacy training come to his aid. He sets down the intricately decorated teacup on its saucer. “The doctors have said it is.”

Viktor’s expression shows that he can’t be fooled so easily.

“The sooner we’re able to get the pomp and circumstance out of the way, the sooner we’ll all be free,” Mila says. She’s chosen to sit with them today, giving Yuri a break from chaperone duty. The story of his and Viktor’s dramatic courting trip that was released to the public shared very little overlap with reality. No assassination attempts were mentioned, for example. Despite all the time Viktor and Yuuri spent alone together, here on Rothys they still need to be chaperoned.

“So sorry for being a disruption to your social calendar.” Viktor smiles, tipping his chin in mock apology.

“It’s not that! Viktor, come on.” Mila turns to Yuuri. “Because of your upcoming nuptials, the Leroys have simply decided to stay here and ‘assist their closest trading partner on the blessed occasion.’ I’d happily take tea with your lovely fiancé any day.”

“It’s not too late if you’d like to elope,” Mari says, startling a laugh out of Mila. Her cup of thick, dark tea is empty; Yuuri would have guessed she’d like the high tannins in the standard blend, and he was right. Yuuri liked the standard stuff too, because it was often mixed with jam or honey, but the specific omegan blend prescribed to him had no sweet additions involved.

“It’s a tempting offer,” Viktor says, serious.

Although Yuuri privately agrees to the merits of that plan, his stubborn heart that settled on this long, long ago would never let him back down. “I’m right where I want to be, Mari-neesan.”

Mari had reluctantly been coaxed into a set of black diplomatic gear, but had put her foot down at anyone messing with her hair or jewelry. The contrast is especially stark as she sits next to Mila, the shifting glitter of her outfit every time she moves making reflected patterns on the wall.

“Have they found any more collaborators?” Mari asks, direct as always.

It’s subtle, but Viktor’s expression goes stiff. “The investigation has concluded that the plot was orchestrated by Ruslan’s parents for the most part. The second round of traitors should be going before my father at the end of the week.”

Rothysian justice is severe. The alphas were given a choice between castration and death, most choosing the latter. There is no family on Rothys who would host them in their disgrace, and death was a more desirable option than being diminished and shunned. Betas and omegas found guilty receive lengthy prison sentences. Viktor had been able to influence his father enough to not condemn the entire family of his would-be assassins, but every person confirmed to be involved had been dealt with swiftly and publicly.

“Will you have to watch again?” Mari asks, voice still bland, her attention on her soft little brother.

“Yes,” Viktor says simply. “An example will be made.”

Yuuri had stood at Viktor’s side for the first round, and he will again for the second. It will be more people Viktor has known since childhood. If only they had been permitted to touch each other in comfort, perhaps the ordeal would have been slightly less awful. Yuuri has been getting progressively better at dealing with scents, but the mix of fear, pain, and anger at that last display had forced Yuuri to bite the inside of his cheek until it bled.

* * *

Eventually the date is set.

The wedding, though broadcast planet wide, has a limited audience at the actual venue: the royal family, the highest noble houses, a representative from the church. Yuuri’s family and Phichit are his lone guests, although a ridiculously huge amount of Yuuri’s old academy classmates had sent their congratulations (with gifts!).

A set of determined and deferential attendants are dispatched to help him get ready. The elaborate, multi-layered white outfit has more jewels and silver buttons than he’s ever seen together before. With pale white and metallic embroidery throughout, it is more of an art piece than a garment. At least the soft silk layers aren’t stiff enough to restrict movement. The tiny pearl buttons on the undershirt make a line from elbow to wrist, pulling the fabric tight around his forearm. Another line of buttons carefully runs down his spine, fitting tight as a collar along his neck, and the jacket that covers it cinches tightly at the waist. The pants are sleek and tight, and a specially-made pair of calf-high boots––adorned with yet more pearl buttons–fit his feet perfectly.

Instead of the headpiece he wore at the ceremony what feels like a lifetime ago, there is simply a thin circlet of sparkling diamonds.

When the final piece, the necklace presented by the king, is fixed on his neck, Yuuri is a little afraid to move, in case he disrupts all the attendant’s hard work.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Just one moment, Your Highness!” An attendant cheerily calls in reply.

Yuuri doesn’t have time to react — isn’t it forbidden to see each other before the ceremony? — before there is a screen being pulled out of the wall and spread out across the room. It is decidedly opaque. Once Yuuri is hidden behind it, the attendants filter out, bowing and smiling. Yuuri frets with his gloves.

There’s a shadow through the screen. “Yuuri.”

“Aren’t you a little early?” Yuuri blurts, nervous.

“The rest of the day isn’t going to be very private,” Viktor laughs, sounding just as nervous, “so I thought I’d check in while I could.”

Since there was this screen prepared, Yuuri doubts the decision to visit was spontaneous. How thoughtful.

Yuuri takes stock of what he’s feeling. He’s always been a private person, that much is certainly true, and he isn’t looking forward to laying his intense private feelings bare on such a stage, where they can be judged and dissected.

Conversely, Viktor has been the anchor point he’s been reaching towards his entire life, and the part of himself that wants to let the entire galaxy know that Viktor Nikiforov is undeniably his—that dark, possessive Yuuri—is more than ready to make that declaration.

Yuuri wants to marry Viktor. No one else will do. The public ceremony he’ll endure, and stake his claim in a satisfying and uncomfortable way, because Viktor is absolutely worth it.

His elaborate wedding outfit is armor and he’s prepared to march out into danger and prevail. Yuuri squares his shoulders and presses his palm flat against the screen that separates them. “I’m okay,” he says, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“_Yuuri_.” Viktor presses his palm against the screen too, matching the shadows.

“Just a few more hours, right?”

“Yes.” They stand there, palms together, for a long moment, before Viktor reaches into his pocket and passes something over the top of the screen: a handkerchief.

Before Yuuri has even had a chance to close his fingers around it, his knees go a little weak. Viktor has scented his handkerchief thoroughly.

“I hope you don’t think me too forward,” Viktor says, which is a very silly thing to say to someone you’re marrying today. “But I thought it might be comforting? At least, a little bit.”

Yuuri presses it to his lips and breathes in. The tense muscles in his shoulders unclench, and each breath he takes seems to sit a little deeper in his chest.

“Thank you, Viktor. I love it.” He folds it carefully and tucks it in his jacket pocket.

“I’m glad.”

He imagines the smile he knows Viktor is wearing.

Viktor coughs. “It’s almost time. I should be going.”

“Wait! Just one moment. Please.”

Yuuri searches around the dressing room for something suitable, and his eyes catch on a scrap of thick white ribbon leftover from tying back his hair as the circlet was fitted. It’s a struggle with gloves and the many layers of clothing, but Yuuri manages to tug down his collar just enough to scent it against his neck, feeling absurdly shy.

He holds it out over the screen, hand faintly trembling, and watches as Viktor’s shadow reaches up and accepts it, immediately bringing it to his lips. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

“See you soon, Viktor.”

* * *

Exhausted after the ceremony, shaky and elated, Yuuri tries to unhook a few of the tiny buttons at his wrist and gains a new appreciation for all the attendants who had helped him earlier. They had made it look so easy, and it is decidedly not.

“May I?” Viktor reaches out a gloved hand to Yuuri’s wrist.

If Yuuri thought his own outfit was intricate, it was nothing compared to the crown prince’s. Viktor looks like a fairytale creature, resplendent and happy. The careful embroidery on their outfits was made to be mirrored; the effect as they stood side by side as they said their vows was of a unified whole.

“Do you know how?” Yuuri remembers the attendants having some type of hook to deal with the buttons.

“Not in the slightest,” Viktor smiles, “But I’m excited to find out.”

They’re alone in Viktor’s set of rooms, not a chaperone to be found. In fact, there are very specific instructions that the crown prince and his consort aren’t to be disturbed. Viktor’s rooms are expensive-looking and elegantly filled, but not garish and over-the-top. The windows in the main room overlook the nighttime garden.

It’s full-dark outside, well after the celebration and dancing have ended. Protocol meant that Yuuri had danced with most of the royal family, including the intimidating King. Every other dance was with Viktor, so at least he had his warm hand on his back to look forward to at the end of each other obligation.

By all rights he should be exhausted by the long and relentless day, and he_ is_ in a way, but underneath it is a current of thick nervousness. Yuuri’s last heat had been a miserable disaster, and he isn’t excited for a repeat. The unpleasant feeling of his body overtaking his mind was awful and humiliating.

One by one, the tiny pearl buttons at his wrist are undone. Once the delicate skin of his wrist is free, Yuuri’s scent leaks out unbidden; he’s in pre-heat, after all, and smells like need.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it!” Viktor says, finishing that arm.

“You are,” Yuuri says.

Steeling himself, he reaches out for Viktor’s hand and gently takes his glove off, and then the other. Viktor stays very still.

“Only a million more layers to go,” Yuuri jokes. He sets the gloves down on the end table.

“Can’t wait,” Viktor says. There’s a different light in his blue eyes. He makes much quicker work of Yuuri’s other wrist, pulling it to his lips when he’s done to skim a kiss against the swollen gland there. Yuuri’s heart jumps into his throat when Viktor removes his gloves and kisses the center of Yuuri’s palm too. Rothysian culture regulates touch so rigidly, even this contact feels deeply intimate. It must be even more-so for Viktor, who was raised with such restriction.

“Should we–– um.” Yuuri feels overwhelmed.

“Ah, this is your first time in my rooms, right? Let me show you around, my Yuuri,” Viktor laces his fingers with Yuuri and pulls him towards the hallway.

There is an elaborate bathroom with a massive tub, a separate restroom, and three other sparsely-filled guest rooms. Yuuri knows they’re intended for their children-to-be, which he’ll be expected to start producing as soon as possible, preferably tonight.

On the other side of the living area is the entrance to Viktor’s bedroom, in which a massive curtained four-poster dominates the space. Behind the bed there’s a smaller door inset into the wall that leads to a dedicated nest room. It’s been hopefully piled with soft, folded blankets, in a stack next to an inlaid nest-bed of the traditional style. Yuuri’s stomach does a flip at the sight of it, knowing he’ll probably be laid out there out-of-his-mind and begging soon.

The room only smells like Viktor. “Did you set this up yourself?”

“I didn’t want anyone else in here to make you feel stressed,” Viktor confesses, a soft pink blush blooming over the bridge of his nose. “I hope you don’t mind. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, I know it’s kind of––“

“It’s perfect, Viktor. I love it. Thank you.” Yuuri cuts him off before he can apologize.

During the formal dinner’s dessert service, Yuuri had been given an extra glass at his seat, filled with a variant of that bitter omegan tea in a silver-etched ceremonial vessel. He’d obediently swallowed it down like a shot, knowing full-well it was meant to bring on a full heat within hours. Another Rothysian tradition. It’s hitting now, surely, he can feel the warmth in his blood.

Yuuri leans in and kisses Viktor, open-mouthed. At least if he has to go through this again, Viktor will be there.

Viktor kisses back, his scent content. He runs his hand down Yuuri’s spine, and stops to spay his palm out against his lower back, warm even through the layers.

Yuuri plays with the soft silver hair at Viktor’s nape, carding his fingers through it as they explore each other’s mouths.

Their expensive jackets end up in a priceless puddle on the floor. It’s impressive they managed to get that much off without separating. Still, far too much fabric is between them.

Viktor slides his leg between Yuuri’s, providing much-needed friction against his cloth-covered cock. Just a simple kiss has Yuuri’s omega body aroused and leaking slick, but the heat-haze started to settle in once he was in Viktor’s arms and he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed now. He can feel and smell that Viktor wants him too; very, very much so.

Yuuri tugs Viktor down into the fresh nest, blindly working open the buttons on his undershirt.

“I didn’t think it would hit this quickly,” Viktor says, breathing heavy.

Yuuri doesn’t bother to respond in words. Instead, he spreads his legs wider and rubs upward against Viktor’s hips.

“Okay, okay, got it,” Viktor soothes. He preempts Yuuri’s clumsy hands and undoes the rest of his undershirt, shrugging it off. Yuuri’s greeted with Viktor’s perfect bare chest, which he can’t help but run his hands greedily over the musculature. He leans up and kisses Viktor’s pink nipple, wetly.

Viktor’s unbuttoning skills must have grown exponentially in so short a time, because he very quickly gets Yuuri shirtless too. He flings the shirt somewhere over his shoulder.

“You’re beautiful,” Viktor says, leaning down to kiss over Yuuri’s heart.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuri echoes, voice a bit slurred and indignant.

VIktor laughs against his chest. His hair tickles.

Yuuri squirms against him. With every passing moment his need grows exponentially.

Viktor kisses both of Yuuri’s nipples, using his tongue to tease at the nub. With his secondary gender unrestricted, they feel even more sensitive, and he can’t help but moan as Viktor plays with his chest.

Two can play at that game. Yuuri reaches out and fondles the thick outline of Viktor’s cock through his pants, intentions clear. It’s Viktor’s turn to moan, breathlessly. The intense scent of _alpha_ is filling their nest.

Viktor pushes Yuuri’s hand back, firmly, and then kisses down from his chest to his belly button. He pulls off Yuuri’s pants and underwear together, getting the last bits of fabric off his feverish skin.

Yuuri’s pink cock stands tall between his legs, and he isn’t able to fight the base desire to present himself to his alpha, spreading his legs wide as he can and showing off his wet hole.

It works, because after that display Viktor leans in to kiss his hardness too, suckling at the head. He’s nowhere near as well-endowed as an alpha, and Viktor has no trouble taking him fully into his mouth.

Yuuri’s thoughts white out for a long while. All that exists is Viktor’s warm mouth on his intimate parts, pleasuring him mercilessly with his tongue. He’s gasping and begging incoherently before long, as Viktor presses his hips down into the nest with one strong hand and sucks him off.

Yuuri hasn’t been touched by anyone in this way, and his sensitivity is magnified by the heat. It feels like his soul is behind sucked out through his dick, and he can’t fight the crashing orgasm that follows. _I just came in Viktor’s mouth_, he thinks, panicked, from far away.

Viktor pulls off and blinks up at him, looking surprised too, but not unhappy. There’s a small line of cum at the corner of his mouth. “I take it you liked that?”

Oh my god. Yuuri covers his face with his hands.

“I hope so, anyway, because I sure did,” Viktor continues. He rubs his thumb against the intimate scent glands on Yuuri’s inner thigh, making him shiver. When Viktor shifts to start scenting him there, Yuuri’s brain takes another vacation. Viktor scents his wrists and neck too, posessively, until he’s all Yuuri can feel, relaxing again into a pliant puddle. The clarity from climax is temporary.

He tugs at Viktor’s pants, and Viktor obliges by finally taking them off. The sight of his erect cock makes Yuuri spread out and present again, wanton and desperate. He’s aching and empty, painfully so. He remembers feeling like this before, and Viktor walking away, and he’s suddenly very scared Viktor will leave again.

“Please don’t leave,” he begs, tears gathering in his eyes, “please stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Viktor promises. He traces the outline of Yuuri’s slick hole, then slides his finger in easily, fucking him slowly with it. Yuuri’s body doesn’t put up a bit of resistance. “You’re _so_ wet, my Yuuri.”

“Please,” he begs, reaching out and stroking Viktor’s cock, “Please, please.”

Viktor lines up to take him properly, hands on Yuuri’s thighs, spreading them wider. Yuuri watches the thick head of his cock pressing into him and thinks in half-arousal and half-fear that it isn’t going to fit inside him.

They both groan as the head slides past the tight ring of muscle, spearing him properly. Every derogatory thing Yuuri’s heard about omegas comes to his mind suddenly, every filthy word in porn about how omegas are made for taking cock, and he thinks they have some basis. Viktor pushes into him inch by inch, assisted by the wet slick, until they’re both gasping in pleasure. He fucks into Yuuri’s hole, gradually getting deeper with each thrust, gaping Yuuri wider and wider as his body struggles to accept his length. Each push sends waves of pleasure from his insides, thoughts going unintelligible as his heat-addled brain floats somewhere deliriously happy.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, beautiful and wrecked, “Yuuri, you’re so good, Yuuri.”

A constant stream of encouragement and praises keeps up from Viktor, about how tight he is, about how good he feels, about how beautiful he looks like this. Yuuri’s omega preens.

Eventually, Viktor bottoms out inside him, leaving Yuuri absolutely stuffed full. Viktor pauses and gasps, fully-seated, and Yuuri squirms around him, feeling his cock so intimately inside, trying to keep up the sensation.

Viktor presses his palm firmly on his lower belly. “Mercy, Yuuri, mercy.”

Knowing a weakness when he sees it, Yuuri reaches out and strokes Viktor’s touch-starved, flawless skin; across his sides and shoulders, his arms. Viktor shivers, still so unused to touch. Yuuri scents him as he goes, happy and treasured.

Viktor starts to move again, hips thrusting forward helplessly. Yuuri manages to take him somehow, mewling in pleasure as his prostate is hit again and again. His world focuses down onto their coupling, everything else fading uselessly away.

They shift positions, so Yuuri is on all-fours being taken from behind. It’s this shift that lets Yuuri know what’s coming; it’s considered easier to take a knot from this angle. He wants Viktor’s knot quite badly, but can’t form the words to even beg, so Yuuri resorts to grinding back on Viktor’s cock after each thrust and squeezing tight around him.

The swelling of the knot is so sudden he cries out as it expands inside, matching a desperate cry from Viktor. Surely, surely it can’t fit, surely he’ll be torn apart––

He can feel the twitch of Viktor’s cock inside of him as he empties, filling him with cum, spurt by heavy spurt. Yuuri’s in heat and very fertile right now, and that awareness pushes him to come untouched with a scream, white hot pleasure flowing through him as Viktor still pulses inside.

Viktor drapes over his back and kisses Yuuri’s neck, saying sweet things Yuuri can’t process yet. He tilts his chin so Viktor can get a better angle, and the first press of Viktor’s teeth against his mating gland has him shaking harder.

This last part, shunned by the wider galaxy, is absurdly primal and archaic. Yuuri didn’t predict himself wanting it so much, enjoying it so much, as Viktor’s teeth sink into his neck in a claiming mating bite. If his mind was scattered before, now it is utterly clean and blank, empty with love and pleasure.

Yuuri’s heat lasts days, with only brief returns to clarity. It’s during one of those times that he has the pleasure of marking Viktor back and sealing their bond. Archaic or not, he’s so, so happy.

* * *

Following their shared heat, the last thing Yuuri expected was more tea, but here he is, drinking from the same silver tea set. It’s a blend to help him recover, which he’s dubious about, but since it’s extremely hard to even sit up, he’s willing to try. Yuuri is very familiar with the feeling of Viktor’s knot.

His eyes keep catching on the mating bite on Viktor’s neck.

Viktor, finally free to touch and be touched, turns out to be a massive cuddler. Yuuri’s drinking his tea propped up against Viktor’s chest, reading along as Viktor catches up on news and correspondence on a comm pad.

Currently, he has open a news site that is, absurdly, filled with nothing but photos of their wedding, with special focus on Yuuri: his outfit at all angles, each piece of jewelry, and a bunch of ridiculous facts like ‘bravely jumped into fire to protect the prince’s life’ and ‘graduated top of his class from a prestigious galactic university’.

“Viktorrrr,” Yuuri whines, swiping away the silly article.

“Hey, I was reading about my beautiful husband!”

Unfortunately, the next article he’d swiped to was genetic predictions of their future children, hyper-realistic renderings that made Yuuri’s stomach dip with something. Viktor sets the tablet aside.

“We have a few days before my rut starts,” Viktor says. They’d been timing his cycle just as carefully, Yuuri now knows. “What would you like to do? Your family has regrettably already had to depart, but I believe your friend Phichit is still here. How about some sightseeing?”

“I’m sure he’d jump at the chance to explore and take some photos,” Yuuri says. “That sounds nice.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Viktor hugs him from behind and kisses the crown of his head.

“I’m perfect,” Yuuri says. “How about you?”

Days of intimacy have done wonders for them. “I can’t say I’m not feeling the urge to keep you in our nest and all to myself, because I very much am. Pre-rut hits alphas just as hard in some ways as pre-heat. But not so much that we can’t go out and sightsee.”

“Phichit is scentless, so he shouldn’t bother you at all.” Also, the fresh mating bites on their necks send a very clear signal to anyone with eyes.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let my baser nature interfere with this. I just wanted to let you know,” Viktor says, “I want to meet your friends. I want to know everything about you.”

Yuuri blushes, even now. “There’s a summer house, right?” He blurts.

“Yes?”

“I remember reading about it, in some of the biographies I got a hold of,” Yuuri confesses. “It said that you went there often?”

“Yes, we went there every summer when I was a child. It was nice to be away from the court.” Viktor sounds thoughtful. “We can go, if you’d like, though there isn’t much to do. It’s just a quiet place.”

“I want to know everything about you,” Yuuri echoes.

Their fingers are already laced together. Yuuri lifts up their joined hands and presses a kiss to Viktor’s ring finger, thoroughly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Athra and James for the beta, as well as for hosting me back in September when I spawned this whole plot in their guest bedroom ♥ 
> 
> Thank you to Ren for playing "Pass the WIP" and jump-starting this chapter. You have her to thank for the lovely pre-wedding scene. 
> 
> Thank you sincerely to all my friends for their support, and to every person who's taken the time to read, kudos, or comment.
> 
> FORCE OF NATURE WILL RETURN NEXT I PROMISE.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter :D](https://twitter.com/buttercup_yoi)


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